


Elephant

by BrewedAwakening



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Drama, FACE Family, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-03 16:30:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 76,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1751189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrewedAwakening/pseuds/BrewedAwakening
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knew who he was. Teachers, students, people at the grocery store—he was basically a celebrity. Matthew Bonnefoy, "the blind kid." He was so popular, in fact, that people couldn't bear to keep their eyes off of him. Or speak to him. Or acknowledge his existence.  The elephant in the room, that was Matthew. And for pretty much his whole life he had always been just kind of...there. That is, until he meets a nosy kid named Gilbert, who decides that "there" just isn't good enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue, Part I: Up

 

⠠⠥⠏

This was the longest car ride of Arthur's life. The rain was coming down with no end in sight. It pounded mercilessly on the rugged streets below, like it was mocking the inner turmoil taking place within Arthur’s mind. His heart was racing, and he folded his restless hands in his lap in an effort to calm himself. As the man beside him stepped on the gas, the stoplight having turned green, Arthur swallowed thickly, realizing that they didn't have much time left.

“Arthur,” Francis said softly, pulling the anxious man from his frantic thoughts. “Please. Talk to me.”

Pulling his eyes from the road just for a moment, he glanced over at the man seated at his side, eyes pleading. They had been driving for nearly an hour in silence, and Francis couldn't take it any longer. They needed to talk. And they needed to do it now. He frowned when he didn't get a response. Instead the passenger simply glared forward at the long stretching road ahead, his lips set in a tight line. Arthur didn't even want to look at Francis, let alone speak to him. The sooner they could get home, the better. He just wanted to see his children, and forget about the nonsense he had heard that morning. These doctors disgusted him.

“Arthur,” Francis pressed, his voice stern. There was no more avoiding this. He knew how stubborn the man could be, but he could be just as adamant.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Francis,” he spat.

Francis gripped the wheel tighter, his jaw clenching in frustration. This was going nowhere. If he wasn't going to get it out of Arthur willingly, then he would just have to force it out of him. He spotted a nearby gas station, the first one he had seen since they'd begun the journey back home. He knew it could be an hour or more before he would be able to find another pit stop, and there was no way he would spend a minute longer in such suffocating silence. He had made up his mind.

Arthur yelped as Francis made a sharp right turn, the car wheels screeching in agony against the wet cement as he swerved into the empty station. Gasping, he clutched the seat belt at his chest and scowled at the man behind the wheel. “What the bloody hell are you doing!” he shouted. “Are you trying to kill us both?” This time it was Arthur who was answered with silence, and he became even more irritated that Francis seemed to be completely unfazed. The Englishman looked around as he tried to gather his bearings and scoffed with annoyance once he realized where they were.

“Why in the world did you stop here?” he demanded. “We’re fine on gas!” he said, peeking at the fuel gauge to make sure he wasn't crazy. Still, Francis stayed silent and passed straight by the pumps, confusing the agitated man even more. “What are you—”

Arthur gasped again as Francis turned abruptly into one of the only two parking spaces there, turning off the engine and removing the keys. Arthur’s anger subsided for only a second, momentarily replaced by shock. Francis wasn't acting like himself. He watched as the other slowly removed his seat belt and slipped the keys into his pocket. He flinched slightly as their eyes met, startled by the other’s hard blue stare.

“Nothing to talk about?” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Nothing to talk about, Arthur?”

And just like that, with his own words thrown back at him, his anger returned tenfold. “I gave you my answer and it won’t change! It won’t change, Francis!” he screamed.

“Calm down,” Francis said, placing a gentle hand on Arthur’s own. He frowned when the Brit snatched away, fixing him with a spiteful glare.

“Drive,” he hissed. They both stared each other down in silence, thunder rumbling all around them. The windshield wiper squealed as it swayed back and forth, almost seeming to scream at the both of them.

“We aren't going anywhere.” Francis had reached his limit. He was done dancing around the issue, done changing the subject. He was done acting like everything was alright, like they could just go on living leaving things the way they were.

"Drive the car, Francis," Arthur repeated, voice dangerously low as it forced its way through his tightening throat.

"No." Mother Nature seemed to take Francis' side, the answer punctuated with a loud crack of thunder. And Arthur stared at him as the sky flashed with light, waiting for him to sigh in the way he always did, waiting for his shoulders to slink in surrender. But Francis didn't move an inch, didn't say another word, and Arthur could feel his gut sink. No. _No_ , he couldn't do this.

Francis doubled back as Arthur lunged at him, a hand grabbing for the keys inside his pocket. Though startled, he quickly took hold of Arthur's arms, eyes wide as he watched his husband succumb to his own desperation, yanking and thrashing within his grip in an attempt to break free.

"Let me _go_."

His voice wavered slightly as he spoke past the knot in his throat, his breaths short and fast while he continued to struggle, adrenaline flooding throughout his body. Arthur couldn't do this right now. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally. Talking was the last thing he wanted to do. And what further unraveled him was how gentle the Frenchman's touch was, how even while he sat there trying to shove him away Francis held him like he was the only thing that mattered. And yet he still found himself screaming because he just wanted to go home, to go home and take his mind off of how dreadful that day had been.

"Let me go and just drive the damned car!"

“Not until we finish this discussion!”

Arthur was stunned, and he didn't bother hiding the way his body tensed, a barely audible gasp escaping his lips. Francis never raised his voice. Francis even surprised himself. He heaved a shaky sigh in an attempt to calm himself, his hands leaving Arthur's arms to gingerly caress either side of his face. “This won’t just disappear. No matter how much you want it to, it won’t.” He stared into his husband's eyes, full of sorrow and grief, and watched them squeeze shut.

"Don't you think I know that? I _know_ that. He's my _child_ ," came his soft, choked reply. _His_ child. His sickly, suffering child. Arthur could feel himself falling further and further apart, lips quivering, eyes welling, the knot in his throat becoming too much to bear. And so he surrendered, a sob ripping through his throat as he crumpled into himself.

"Arthur..." Francis' chest ached at the sight of his other half, broken, vulnerable. And Arthur held his head in his hands, disgusted with how pathetic he felt.

“What do you want me to say?” he sobbed, wiping at his face. “That I want those surgeons to blind him? That I want them to—” He shuddered as he was overcome with feelings of absolute horror. “To _gouge_ out his eyes and leave him terrified? It’s inhumane!” He found himself laughing suddenly, the sound bitter and harsh. “We come all the way down here, and for what? Hours of driving only to be told what we've already been told before."

He snatched up the file sitting in his lap, Matthew's file, thick and heavy with the torment of the past two years. Blood tests, CAT scans, pathology reports, treatment plans, charts, diagrams, percentages—everything that reminded Arthur that to _them_ , Matthew was just a patient. Just a number.

Francis watched as the manila folder was hurled to the floor, papers scattering, the Englishman thrusting it violently from his hands as if to deny its existence.

"God,” he croaked, “Matthew never asked for this. He’s been suffering his whole life! And now they want to take away his sight?" He looked to his husband, vision too blurry with his own tears to see the way Francis' throat constricted, to see the way his eyes resembled glass. "How? How could I allow that? How could I allow him to suffer even more?”

Arthur was angry. Not at his husband or the doctors, but at the fact that this disease had chosen to terrorize _his_ son, robbing him of a normal childhood. Angry that after all they had done to keep their little boy out of harm’s way, he was still in constant danger. But most of all, he was angry at himself. For not seeing the signs. For not knowing that there were signs _to_ see. None of this would be happening if only he had noticed in time.

"Why didn't I see it sooner?" he asked, hands gripping at his hair. "If I had just—"

"No," Francis stopped him before he could even attempt to finish the thought.

"I could have—"

" _Arthur_ ," he said, the Brit's name a desperate plea. "Look at me." Arthur looked up as a calloused palm came to rest at his cheek, and Francis forgot to breathe as their eyes met, crushed by the look of guilt and shame on the other's face. His lips trembled as he spoke again. "This is _not_ your fault. It isn't yours or mine or anyone's." Again, Arthur's eyes began to water, lips parting as he released a shallow breath.

"But I—"

"You didn't _know_." He took his husband’s shaky hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. " _We_ didn't know."

Arthur let out a choked sound, and Francis' heart felt like lead as he watched the blond slump in defeat.

“I know you’re hurting. I do. I am too.” He looked apologetically into those somber eyes, tenderly wiping away the steady falling tears. “I don’t want this anymore than you do. But you have to understand that these doctors only want what’s best for our Matthieu. If there was any other way, I wouldn't have even entertained the idea. But there isn’t. This is our last resort. If we don’t let them do this, we may lose him.”

“But if we continue with the chemo, it could get better and—”

“But what if it doesn’t? What if it gets worse?” Francis was firm, but not forceful. He just needed Arthur to understand how grave things were. They could no longer live in denial. “We can’t risk it. Matthieu may lose his sight, but he will have his _life_."

Arthur froze as he was jolted back to reality, his own realization hitting him like a freight train. What was he _doing_? Was he really gambling with something as precious as his child’s life? He suddenly felt a wave of nausea throughout his body as feelings of shame and regret washed over him, utterly disgusted with himself.

Denial. It was a nasty, ruthless little pest. It had taken a hold of the both of them for a long while, but Arthur just couldn't seem to break free of it. Matthew wasn't as sick as the doctors made him out to be, he had first convinced himself. He was a happy, healthy child who played cops-and-robbers with his brother and helped his father cook in the kitchen. His son was sick, he admitted, but he was a normal boy. A normal boy who began chemotherapy, but normal nonetheless. A normal boy who began losing his energy, whose hair began to thin, but he was just like any other child. This was Arthur’s way of coping. But that day, as he sat there in that crummy gas station in the pouring rain, face streaked with tears, he realized how foolish he had been.

“Dear god,” he breathed, “what’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing is wrong with you,” Francis said softly. The Frenchman pulled him into an embrace, gripping him tighter as he felt the other’s arms come round his neck.

"I'm so sorry..." he rasped, his breath soft against Francis' neck, tears dampening his skin. And somehow Francis knew that apology wasn't just for him.

He shook his head, placing a long, tender kiss atop Arthur's head. “This has been a long few months for the both of us. I couldn't stay upset with you even if I tried.”

Francis had known how stressed Arthur was, watched as he became somewhat distant, burying himself in his work. They had both been under a lot of pressure, trying their best to adapt to the chaotic normalcy that had become an integral part of their lives. Weekly hospital visits, family movie nights, grueling chemotherapy sessions, weekend strolls to the park, piles of medical bills, evening kisses and bedtime stories. A torturous cycle of happiness and despair.

Even now with the reality of Matthew's poor prognosis lying abandoned at Arthur's feet, Francis looked forward to the sandcastles they would build that weekend, looked forward to the ticklish feeling of buckets of sand being dumped onto his body, to the pit-pattering of tiny hands hastening his burial, to the squeals of laughter that would fill the bathroom while he scrubbed bubble gum scented soap into salty blonde heads. And yet he knew that this happiness would soon be stolen from him. It would vanish once he watched an IV go through Matthew's pale little arm, once he watched his son grow lethargic, watched his eyes grow dim. And it would start all over again.

"Who told you that you had to grieve alone?" Francis whispered, frowning when he was answered with another wretched sob. The sound left his heart aching, but relief followed soon after. Because Arthur was finally letting go. Arthur was finally letting him in after months of arguing, of empty smiles and avoidance. He held the trembling Englishman in his arms, the corners of his eyes prickling with tears of his own. He pulled back to look at the smaller man once he had calmed, and Arthur bowed his head to hide his puffy red eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said again, hands balled in his lap. "Lately, I...I've not been acting like myself. And I shouldn't have taken out my frustrations on you. Or let them cloud my judgement."

"Look at me, _cher_." He did so slowly, eyes glassy and lashes damp. "I love you. And I don't know what made you think you had to hide these feelings from me. But it ends here. The only way we'll get through this is together, Arthur. This pain is not only yours to bear. So please, don't shut yourself off from me." Arthur nodded his head, but that wasn't good enough for Francis. "Promise me."

"I promise. I do." The two men embraced once more, their bodies melding with one another as they fell into a momentary silence. “He’ll...never be able to see again.” The more Arthur thought about it, the heavier his heart became. Matthew was just barely four. This would devastate him.

Francis was just as concerned, feeling completely helpless as he wondered how they would explain this to their son. How could anyone explain to a child that they would live the rest of their life in darkness? The thought was unnerving. But he knew they would manage somehow. They had to.

“We’ll be right there with him to help him through this.” Taking Arthur’s hand in his own, he placed his own fingers between the crevices, bringing it to his lips. “We need to stay strong,” he said, “for his sake.”

The rain had become a gentle drizzle, and although Arthur still had fears of what was to come, he knew that the decision they had made was right. There was nowhere to go but up.

“Right.”


	2. Prologue, Part II: Peur

Matthew was supposed to be brave. Like he told his family he would be. Like the superheroes in his brother's favorite TV shows. He thought he could be brave too, just like them. But as Matthew sat there in his wrinkled hospital gown, his family smiling and joking at his side, he began to realize that he was wrong. He was dead wrong. The boy stared down at the thin band around his wrist, recognizing only his name among the other jumbles of letters and numbers that meant nothing to him. He began to feel nauseous, his stomach churning and knotting up on itself.

Alfred's laughter just barely reached his ears, all but drowned out by the sound of his racing heart slamming against his tiny chest. As he looked once more to his family, his breaths short and quick, the façade he'd managed to maintain for so long finally began to crumble. He was scared. Matthew was still too young to know it, but everything—the tests, the appointments, the bloodwork, the chemo—all of it had started with a simple photograph. The picture was just one of many that cemented little Matthew's inevitable place in this hospital bed, with goosebumps spreading along his skin.

The disease had revealed itself in the flash of a disposable camera, turning the dark color of Matthew’s pupils into a glaring, unnatural white. It was alarming, and Arthur had scheduled an appointment with Matthew’s physician for the following day, not knowing that it would mark the beginning of a three-year-long battle with cancer. Retinoblastoma, his doctor had called it, a type of pediatric cancer. It was a frightening word, cancer. Arthur could still remember how his body went numb, how tightly Francis held his hand as the doctor spoke to them. He could feel his husband’s hand run cold as they were told of the masses forming in their son’s eyes, tumors that threatened to rob him of his sight. And possibly his life. Matthew had been just a year old.

By the time Matthew had celebrated his second birthday, the hospital had become something of a second home to him. Monthly check-ups and chemotherapy sessions became routine for he and his family, and with the way he and his brother used to prance up and down the colorfully decorated halls, at times it seemed to be something more of a playground than a children's hospital. But once Matthew's condition began to steadily deteriorate, reality soon set in. The cancer was persistent, but so were his parents.

Matthew was seen by every specialist they could find, and they made sure he had access to every treatment recommended, regardless of the cost. And as Matthew’s treatments grew in number and frequency, so too did his parents’ fears. Because although Matthew wasn't getting any worse, he wasn’t getting any better either. The cancer was becoming resistant to the chemotherapy, they were told, and they needed to "seriously consider other methods of treatment." The boys celebrated their fourth birthday around this time, and the sound of their giggles and the grins on their faces, smeared with chocolate frosting, distracted their parents, if only for a day, from the consultation scheduled for them the next morning.

That consultation had sealed Matthew's fate. There had been a vase of flowers on the doctor's desk that morning. Arthur hadn't been able to stop staring at it. The flowers had been wilting, almost as if they too could sense the mood in the room. As if they'd known how much he and Francis would struggle over the next three months, with their will, their conscience, and their sanity. They listened to the man seated behind the desk, and in his grave monotone he left them with two options: begin Matthew on radiation therapy in conjunction with his chemo, with no guarantee that the cancer wouldn’t advance, or eliminate the threat altogether and have Matthew’s eyes surgically extracted.

They’d both left the office feeling nauseous. It was a hard pill to swallow, and for a while, neither of them wanted to accept it. Desperate for an alternative, they sought out second, third, and fourth opinions—only to arrive at the same conclusion each time. The second option was best. It was necessary, they were told. And so here the couple sat with their son in the hospital, putting on brave faces for his sake, secretly wondering what would come of tomorrow when their son woke up in a world not of his choosing.

The scent of coffee filled the room as Francis came in from the hallway with two paper cups, and Arthur gave his thanks as Francis handed him one. Matthew fiddled with a loose thread on the hem of his gown as his father placed a kiss on his forehead.

" _Désolé, mon bonheur_ ," Francis said, taking his seat to the right of Matthew's bedside. "Papa didn't think getting coffee would take so long." His five minute trip to the cafeteria had taken double the time, and though he knew Matthew wasn't due for surgery for another hour, every minute he'd spent away from his son's side had been a minute too long.

Matthew sat up a little, and Arthur adjusted the pillow at his back. "It wasn't long, Papa," he said.

But truth be told, Matthew hadn't been able to stop stealing glances at the door, waiting for Francis' return. He was relieved to have his Papa back by his side. He looked over at his brother, who sat on Arthur's lap in the chair to Matthew's left, envious. Matthew wanted so badly to sit in his Papa's lap; that always made him feel better. He wanted to get out of this funny-smelling bed. He wanted his Papa to hold him close, and to feel the warmth of his cashmere sweater, soft against his cheeks.

But Matthew wouldn't ask. Couldn't ask. Because then, his Papa would surely know his secret. Instead, he looked again to the band around his wrist, ashamed of his own mounting fear. Francis ran a hand through his sparse head of hair, and Matthew sunk back into his pillow, finding temporary solace in his warm smile and gentle touch. He listened while his parents exchanged words, comforted by the sound of their voices.

"Don't tell me there was a line for coffee," Arthur said, taking a sip of the dark slush. He grimaced at the taste.

"The machine was being fixed," Francis answered, chuckling at the face Arthur made. "It was either that or a bag of Lipton."

Arthur laughed softly and took a few more sips despite himself. Bitterness aside, it was definitely better than that rubbish Americans called tea. The caffeine didn’t hurt either, considering it was so early in the morning. "You know me well."

"After eighteen years, I'd hope so," he teased, enjoying the smile on the other's face.

"Daddy, can I have some coffee, too?" Alfred asked, peeking into the cup in his father's hand. "I'm a big boy now, so I can have some, can't I?"

Arthur looked down at the four year old in his lap and chuckled. "You may be a big boy," he said, "but you aren't a grown-up just yet." Alfred's lips formed a small pout and Arthur smiled, fingers smoothing at the boy's cowlick. "But Daddy packed some juice for us last night, remember? Would you like a some juice instead?"

Alfred gasped and gave an eager nod. "Apple juice!" He watched his father bring a hand to his ear, as if he hadn't heard Alfred's answer, and blushed. "Um, please," he added, remembering his manners. With a nod of satisfaction, Arthur reached into the large tote on the floor next to his feet, filled to capacity with things he hoped would make Matthew's next two days in the hospital as comfortable as possible. Inside were the boys' favorite drinks and snacks, some coloring books and crayons, and extra blankets among other things.

Matthew's favorite stuffed bear sat on top, not nearly as white as the day he and Francis had bought it, but loved by its little owner all the same. Arthur stared at the bear, at the boxes of crayons and picture books and little toys that were all packed neatly inside, and felt a chill run down his back. His son was about to have his life changed forever, and this was all he could think to bring. Nothing more than a few playthings.

Arthur hadn't known what else to do. He'd just wanted Matthew to be surrounded by things familiar to him. Wanted Matthew to feel safe, and loved. Because as ashamed as Arthur was to admit it, a part of him was still afraid. Afraid that Matthew would grow to resent him, to resent Francis, for the decision they'd made. The thought was irrational, but Arthur couldn't rid himself of these feelings of doubt and inadequacy. It didn't matter how many books he'd read on childhood blindness, or how many classes he'd attended for parents of visually impaired children. The simple truth was that he was ignorant, inexperienced, and afraid. Afraid of failing as a parent. Arthur had anticipated this day for months, had marked it on his calendar. But to be in this room right now, knowing that Matthew would leave him in an hour, knowing that the only thing he could do was place his trust in these surgeons, was more unbearable than he ever could have imagined.

And yet he smiled through his apprehension as he handed Alfred a juice box, because he’d be damned if he allowed his own uncertainty to get in the way of what mattered most. And that was being the best father he could be to these precious boys in front of him.

"Daddy?" Matthew's voice called out to him.

"Yes?" said Arthur. He managed to take hold of Matthew's hand, even with Alfred wriggling in his lap. "Do you need the loo?" Matthew shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. "It's alright, dear. I'm listening."

Matthew couldn't help but fidget with three pairs of eyes now on him, his parents’ full of concern, Alfred’s full of curiosity. “Um...” he began, his voice just above a whisper. But Matthew wasn’t fast enough, and his stomach answered for him with a long, low growl. His cheeks went red as he clutched his blankets to his stomach, as if to trap whatever new sounds might escape. Nothing else needed to be said.

“Oh, Matthew…” Matthew hadn’t been allowed a proper breakfast before surgery, nothing more than a glass of juice. It was hard enough for adults to fast, let alone a young child, so Arthur had anticipated this. “You’re hungry, aren’t you? It’s alright to say so, love.”

 Matthew looked down at the blankets scrunched between his fingers and whispered, “Yes.”

 “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know it’s hard. But you’ve been doing such a wonderful job,” Arthur soothed, wanting nothing more than to erase the little frown on his son’s face. “Papa and I aren’t upset with you.”

“Of course not,” Francis set down his coffee on the nightstand next to Matthew’s bed. “You will be able to eat soon, _mon petit_.”

“Uh-huh, Papa said we can get ice cream after your surgery, Mattie,” Alfred said with a grin, wanting to comfort his brother as well. He didn’t like to see Matthew upset.

“Oh, Alfred,” Francis sighed, though he couldn’t help but smile; it had lasted this long at least. “It was supposed to be a secret, remember?”

He giggled sheepishly, clasping his hands over his mouth. "Oops."

The ruined surprise didn't come as much of a disappointment to Matthew, especially since ice cream was the last thing on his mind at the moment. But he mustered up a weak smile and laughed along with his brother, all the while trying to ignore the tightening knots in his stomach. The pungent stench of antiseptic and heavy duty bleach lingered in the air, and as he leaned back against the pillows propped behind him, he felt as if he was slowly suffocating.

"Like this little devil needs anymore sweets," Arthur chuckled. "You've just had two cavities filled last month. Ice cream is the last thing you should be eating." 

“But Daddy,” Alfred whined, “I brush my teeth really, really good.”

“Oh?” Arthur raised his eyebrows in exaggerated shock. “Do you now?”

“Mmhm. Right, Papa?” He looked over to his father with a small pout, his bright blue eyes full of hope.

“Of course, Papa’s seen it with his own eyes,” Francis said, knowing full well that Alfred's teeth brushing skills, while not as horrible as they used to be, still left much to be desired.

Alfred perked up. "See?" He looked up to Arthur expectantly, who furrowed his brows and hummed in thought. He gave Francis a dubious glance and smirked when he saw the way the man tensed. That looked a bit more like the truth. He looked back down at the child bouncing in his lap with anticipation.

"Oh, alright," he relented. "But if I find any more cavities, then I'll know who to blame, hm?" He looked at his husband again, who gave a nervous chuckle.

"Have a bit more faith in me, _hein_?”

Alfred shouted a little exclamation of victory, swinging his legs back and forth. “What flavor are you gonna get, Mattie? I’m gonna get chocolate.”

By then Matthew was too far gone to even think about an answer to his question. Instead, he sat there staring at his family as they stared back at him, waiting for his answer.

"Mattie?" Alfred was starting to notice that his brother didn't look so good.

Matthew's heartbeat rang in his ears, and his hands, cold and clammy, clutched the clean, white sheets beneath him. His lips began to quiver and yet, all he could do was stare. He looked slowly from his brother and then to his parents, realizing that that day would be the last day he would see their faces.

"Matthew? What's wrong, dear?"

Matthew saw his parents' eyes widen just before his vision clouded with tears. He whimpered as he clamped his eyes shut, wishing the tears would just disappear. But he couldn't hold it in any longer. He let out a loud wail, and Francis scooped him up in his arms. Matthew latched onto him like a vice, gasping between sobs as hot tears streaked down his cheeks.

“Matthieu…” Francis soothed circles into his back, placing a kiss atop his head. “ _Papa est ici, mon petit. Chut_ …”

Alfred started to cry too, and that only made Matthew more upset. Alfred had never heard such a sound come from his brother. None of them had. And as the two parents slowly paced around the room trying to console their children, it was taking all of their strength to keep their own composure. It seemed like an eternity before the boys finally calmed down, Matthew soon after Alfred. Matthew sighed and snuggled into his father's neck, finding comfort in his familiar scent and the gentle words he whispered in his ear.

"Papa," he hiccuped. " _J'ai peur._ "

He'd said it. He was scared. Matthew knew what would be happening to him today. He knew. His parents had already explained it to him months beforehand, as gently as they could to someone so young. His eyes were making him very sick, and in order to get better he had to let the doctors have them. Matthew thought it was a joke when they first told him. He laughed and told them no, he couldn't do that. Then he wouldn't be able to see, he’d said. But when neither of his parents cracked a smile, Matthew realized. It wasn’t a silly game. They weren't playing pretend. It was real.

Matthew cried for a long, long time. For a straight week he would wake up crying in the middle of the night, and sometimes even cry himself to sleep. Until one day he completely stopped. Not only that, but his mood had improved drastically. Neither Francis nor Arthur had the slightest clue of what caused such change in Matthew, but they were just grateful to see their son laughing and playing again. Francis couldn't help but think back to those long nights of endless tears as he looked down at the quivering child in his arms. And he couldn't bear to see him in such distress a moment longer.

“ _Mon chou_ ,” he said softly, “It’s okay to be scared.” He wiped away a stray tear, his heart aching as more came to take its place.

“I won’t see Papa again,” he whimpered. “Or Daddy, or Alfie.”

Francis sat himself down at the edge of Matthew’s bed, taking Matthew’s hand. “Let Papa tell you something very important. When you wake up, you will not see us. But we will be there.” Matthew’s vision grew blurry with more tears, and Francis brought a hand to his cheek. “Even if you cannot see us, we will be there with you. I promise.”

Matthew sniffled and held his father tightly, resting his head in the crook of his neck. His skin was warm and Matthew could feel the way his chest rose and fell, and the soft thump of his heartbeat. And as Francis placed a long, tender kiss on Matthew’s bowed head, the last of the boy’s tears finally slipped past his lashes. Francis spoke again, and he could feel the vibrations of his father’s voice as he lie his head against his chest.

“Did you know that your ears can see things too?” he asked. Matthew looked up at him and shook his head. “It’s true,” he said. “Would you like Papa to show you how?”

“Mm...mmhm.”

“Alright,” said Francis, “close your eyes. Just for a moment.” Matthew did as he was told, his fingers tightening their grip on Francis’ sweater.

“Good. Now, you can hear Papa’s voice, can’t you?” Matthew nodded.

“And Daddy’s here too.” Francis looked to Arthur as he crossed the room, and they shared a smile as Arthur joined them on the bed, Alfred held close in his lap.

“Me too,” Alfred chimed in, his little red nose the only indication that he’d been crying. He could see that Matthew had calmed down as well, and it relieved him.

Alfred, like so many other children his age, cried over many things, from falling and scraping his knee, to dropping an ice cream cone, to misplacing his favorite toys. But nothing upset him more than seeing his brother in distress, and he always did whatever he could make Matthew feel better. So now he was going to do just that. He pinched his nose and spoke again.

“It’s okay, Mattie.”

The strange nasally tone made Matthew open his eyes in curiosity, and he found Alfred staring right back at him, looking silly with his nose smushed between his fingers. Alfred simply grinned. “Alfie,” Matthew giggled, “that makes you sound funny.”

“Yeah,” he said, and Matthew laughed again at the strange tone. He let go of his nose and his smile widened. “But I still sounded like me, didn’t I?”

And Matthew smiled, a sweet, gentle smile, not knowing how long his family had been wishing for its return. “Uh-huh.” Matthew looked up at Francis as a hand came to rest on his head. His Papa looked happy.

“That is you seeing us, Matthieu. With your ears.”

“That’s right, love.” Arthur smiled as Matthew looked to him. “Even with your eyes closed, you know who each of us are, how each of us sound. Your eyes aren’t the only part of you that you see with.” Matthew’s eyes widened the slightest bit, and Arthur could see that he’d understood. Francis could see it too, and the two shared a loving glance as Matthew broke into another smile.

“And do you know what else you see with?” Francis asked, and Matthew shook his head as before. Francis responded by nuzzling Matthew’s nose, and Matthew laughed at the ticklish sensation. “With this little nose of yours.”

“My nose?”

“ _C'est ça_. It can tell you when Papa’s cooking in the kitchen. Or when the flowers in Daddy’s garden are blooming. Or what kind of bubbles Alfie chooses for bath time. Your nose can tell you so many things, _mon petit_.”

"And we certainly can’t forget these,” said Arthur, taking Matthew’s hand in his own.

“My hands can see too?” Matthew looked down at them in wonder.

“Of course, poppet. With them, you see with touch. Here, let’s close our eyes and try it.”

Matthew was eager to follow the request this time around, and when he closed his eyes Arthur reached down below to the bag on the floor, pulling out a worn little bear. Alfred grinned with anticipation as Arthur put a finger to his lips.

“I have something here, but I’m not quite sure what it could be. Could you tell me what it might be?” All eyes were on Matthew once Arthur placed the bear in his hands. Matthew sunk his fingers its soft white fur and gasped.

“Kuma!” he exclaimed, his eyes snapping open to find the bear’s button eyes looking up at him. He squeezed his little companion to his chest, smiling contentedly.

“My, my,” Arthur chuckled. “Kuma looks so happy that you recognized him. Even when you couldn’t see him.”

“I saw him with my hands,” said Matthew, hiding a bashful grin behind the bear’s head. His cheeks flushed pink as Francis’ arms enveloped him in a tight hug, his parents showering him with words of praise.

“Matthieu,” Francis said, looking earnestly into his son's eyes, “you must always remember that you are more than just your sight. We love you so much, and we will always be here with you. Understand?”

“Yes, Papa.”

Arthur ruffled Alfred’s hair and placed a small peck against his forehead. "You'll take care of your brother, won't you, lad?"

Matthew could nod his head fast enough. “Uh-huh, like Cap! He takes care of everyone. I’m gonna be Mattie’s superhero!” he proclaimed, sending a toothy grin his brother’s way. “Mattie’s not sad anymore.”

Matthew shook his head, flashing a smile of his own. "I'm gonna get chocolate too."


	3. Hero

⠠⠓⠑⠗⠕

Matthew could hear footsteps, and he knew exactly who they belonged to. They were loud and clunky. They were fast too, as if the person was in a hurry. But above all else, they were completely obnoxious. Matthew did his best to ignore the commotion as he continued to get ready for the day ahead, but it only became louder with each passing second. It was hard to concentrate, and Matthew was getting a little peeved. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for the floorboards, though. They didn’t deserve such abuse.

“Mattie! Mattie, where are you?” Alfred shouted as he ran down the hall, his worn Chuck Taylors pummeling the hardwood floor beneath him. He had just finished cajoling his father into letting him borrow the spare car, and he just had to tell his brother the good news.

“In here,” he called back distractedly, his voice echoing off the pale blue bathroom walls.

Alfred came to a halt at the end of the hall and peered into the bathroom to see his brother in front of the mirror. He was bent over the sink and the water was running, so Alfred figured he was probably brushing his teeth or something. “Guess what?” he said excitedly, leaning on the siding of the bathroom door.

“What?” Matthew asked, turning slightly to face him.

Alfred yelped when he saw only one eye staring back at him. “Aw, _dude_ ,” he whined, making a face. “Could you give me a warning or something? Geez…” He shuddered slightly at the visible pink flesh inside the empty eye socket. No matter how many times he saw it, it would always take him a minute or so to get used to it.

Matthew scoffed as he flipped off the tap, and began to gently dry said missing eye with a soft towelette. “I’ve done this since I was three, Alfred. You should be used to this by now,” he teased. Matthew wasn’t offended in the slightest. His brother couldn’t even watch scary movies without someone (usually Matthew) sitting next to him for moral support. 

“Well, I’m not,” Alfred said with a pout, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest.

Matthew shrugged. “You know I have to clean them every once in a while,” he said, inserting the phony eye beneath his eyelid. They were handcrafted, completely identical to the real pair he had lost. The prosthetics were purely for aesthetic purposes, and although they couldn’t make Matthew see again, they brought him that much closer to being “normal,” and that was all he wanted. He blinked a few times and Alfred grinned as those familiar blue eyes stared back at him. “So, what were you trying to tell me?” he asked, passing by Alfred to return to his room.

“Oh!” He followed behind his brother, his excitement quickly returning. “You won’t believe this. Dad said he’d lend me the Accord!”

Matthew was visibly shocked. “Wow, really?” He sat on his bed and put his shoes on one after the other. Once Alfred had received his driver’s permit last summer, he’d been begging Arthur nonstop to drive that old car. Arthur would always refuse.

“It’s against the law for a minor to operate an automobile without a parent or guardian present,” the Englishman would say, quoting the state law word-for-word. Alfred would whine about Arthur being “lame,” and complain about how Francis said it was ok. Arthur would then ask Alfred if he wanted his father to accompany him to school. Because that was the only way he would let Alfred drive, with him in the passenger seat. Alfred would hastily decline and then reluctantly give up, and then the cycle would repeat itself.

“Yup,” Alfred said proudly. “Pops finally convinced him to quit being so anal.”

Matthew laughed. “Alright, Papa.”

“Well, c’mon,” he said, jingling the prize in his hand. “You’re in charge of the radio.”

“Oh…well, um,” Matthew gave a weak smile. “Actually, Al, I was just gonna walk today,” he said. He felt bad for turning Alfred down, especially when he’d finally gotten permission to use the car. He really did want to ride along with Alfred, but he couldn’t. Not today.

“Huh?” Alfred was utterly confused. “But it’s raining!” He watched Matthew zip up his backpack and throw it over his back.

“Exactly. It’s just a light drizzle.” He shrugged, smiling sheepishly. “I think it’d be nice.”

Alfred stared at his brother in disbelief, and then looked down at the keys in his hand. He looked up again at his brother, who had grabbed an umbrella from inside his closet, and once more to his precious keys. He let out a long, agonized groan.

###### 

It was orgasmic, the smell of rain. Matthew stood there motionless on the street corner, listening to the gentle rhythm of raindrops meeting his umbrella. He loved rain. He loved the sound of it against his window pane, the sound it made as it hit the pavement, when it gathered into puddles and whirled through gutters on the street sides. He loved the way it felt on his skin, and the way the cool drops dampened his hair. But what he loved most was its smell. He smiled and inhaled deeply, allowing the scent of fresh, dewy grass and damp earth to fill his nostrils. There was nothing else like it. 

“Dude,” his brother groaned at his side, “this weather sucks.” He frowned at the traffic signal at the other end of the street, silently pleading for its permission to cross. He hadn’t planned to spend his morning stuck in the pouring rain. With a pout on his face, he wiped at the droplets gathering on his lenses and adjusted the soggy backpack slung over his shoulder.

Matthew rolled his eyes, a small smirk on his lips. He was sure there was no one who could exaggerate more than his brother. “Stop whining, Al,” he said, wincing as a nearby car blew its horn. He held back a laugh as the mopey blond leapt away from the curb to dodge splashing water, mumbling about rude motorists and lousy weather. “It's not that bad.” Sure, it had become a little more than just a drizzle, but it wasn’t like it was a thunderstorm or anything, Matthew had reasoned. Not that he didn't like thunderstorms, too.

“Ugh,” Alfred continued to grumble, “Dad was finally gonna lend me the car, but no. You had to feed your weird rain fetish and walk.”

“W-What?” Matthew sputtered. “I don’t have a fetish!”

Alfred snorted. “Yeah, whatever you say, Mattie.”

“I don’t!” he insisted. “It’s not a _fetish_ ,” he said, grimacing as the word left his mouth. “It’s an appreciation. And it’s not weird,” he hastily added in defense of himself.

Alfred shrugged, smiling at the indignant look on his brother’s face. “Not much of a difference.”

“There’s a _big_ difference!” 

“Whatever, bro,” Alfred snickered, looking ahead to find that the signal had yet to change. He sighed wistfully, eyeing the passing cars with envy. “All these people,” he said, “all nice and dry in their cars. That could’ve been us, you know.”

“I said you didn’t have to come,” Matthew said matter-of-factly, unaffected by the other’s childish antics. He squawked when Alfred’s arm came around his neck, and nearly dropped his cane to the ground. He frowned slightly in annoyance, fighting back a smile when his brother’s obnoxious laugh reached his ears.

“Yeah right! Since when have we not walked to school together? Besides, since Dad gave me the ok, I can take the car another time.” Alfred gasped suddenly, and quite dramatically, startling Matthew. “Are you trying to say you don’t like walking with me anymore? Do you hate me?” he asked, feigning distress.

“Shut up,” Matthew laughed, shoving him away as best as he could with both hands occupied. He heard a sharp bleeping noise from the automated signal at their side, indicating that the two boys could finally cross the street. He wasted no time making his way to the next stretch of sidewalk and Alfred quickly followed suit, laughing all the while.

Alfred was right though, Matthew thought, smiling to himself as he listened to Alfred ramble on about nothing in particular at his side. They had always walked to school together, ever since they were grade-schoolers. It was a short walk, ten, fifteen minutes at most, but it was special to Matthew. It was on that sidewalk that they jumped and stomped in puddles in their squeaky new rain boots, and argued over who had made the biggest splashes. On that very same street side they used to creep like snails, Matthew begging Alfred to keep an eye on him so he didn’t step on any cracks; else he’d break their parents' backs. Sometimes they rushed home, eager to see what kinds of snacks their father had waiting for them. Other times they dragged their feet, dreading the hours they would spend completing that night’s homework. It was how they bonded, walking down that road together everyday. The fact that Alfred was willing to pass up his first parent-free day behind the wheel to walk with him meant a lot to Matthew.

The roaring engine of a passing school bus reached Matthew’s ears and he frowned. It wouldn’t be long before they reached school. Matthew loathed going to school. It wasn’t that he didn’t like to learn; it was quite the opposite. It was the environment that he couldn’t stand. It wasn’t until junior high that Matthew began to understand the way the world saw him. 

Teachers and other adults would coddle him as if he was incapable of doing anything himself. He socialized with other children, but friendships were few and far between. It only became worse once he started high school. His brother fell right into place, making friends left and right and joining the school’s wrestling team. But Matthew’s social life, on the other hand, was nonexistent. He often found himself jealous of his brother, of how charismatic he was and the effect he had on people, of how he didn’t have to deal with people feeling sorry for him, or have people talk to him like he was stupid. He felt guilty, selfish even, for having such feelings when Alfred did nothing but support him, but he just couldn’t help it. Feelings of dread and anxiety began to take hold of him, and his legs felt like lead. He would have given anything for a chance to turn back around.

“Dude, what’s with the grandma legs?” Alfred teased, realizing that Matthew had started to drift behind him.

“H-Huh? Oh.” Matthew quickened his pace, returning to the other’s side with a soft apology.

The meek reply caught Alfred off guard. Curious, he peered at Matthew from under his umbrella and noticed his head had slumped forward, Matthew's long hair making it difficult for him to make out his brother’s expression. His body language was off though, Alfred could see that much.

“Hey,” he said in a voice that was uncharacteristically quiet. “What’s wrong?”

Matthew’s head snapped up at Alfred’s question and he quickly shook his head, smiling. “Nothing,” he said, “I’m just a little tired. I couldn’t sleep much last night,” he explained, laughing nervously. “You know, first day and all.” It wasn’t a total lie. It _had_ taken a while for Matthew to fall asleep the night before. It was hard to catch Zs when all he could think of was how agonizing the next day would be.

Alfred stared at Matthew’s smiling face, his eyes narrowing with skepticism. The lenses of his glasses were smudged and a little fogged over, but he could see that sham of a smile clear as day. And he didn’t like it.

Matthew heard his brother hum in what sounded like understanding, and finally released the breath he’d been holding. He felt a little guilty for lying, but he didn’t need Alfred worrying about him. He did that enough already. He heard Alfred chuckle then, but it was odd. It was a dry laugh, short and breathy. Matthew raised an eyebrow.

“What?” he said, turning his head to face the other.

“You’re usually really great at lying, but that,” he said, shaking his head, “that was really lame.”

Matthew’s mouth opened and closed multiple times before he could force out a reply. “I wasn’t-”

“Yeah, you were. So, what’s really going on?”

Matthew gripped his umbrella tighter, facing ahead. “Nothing’s ‘going on.’ I’m just tired, alright?” His annoyance was evident in his voice, and his answer was firm. He was annoyed at himself more than anything, for letting his negative thoughts ruin his good mood.

Had Matthew answered with such conviction the first time, Alfred surely would have believed him. But after catching Matthew in a lie, he just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was up. He stayed silent for a while, listening to Matthew’s cane rumble against the ground as he thought to himself. He spoke again once they reached another crosswalk.

“You’re…not really excited about school today, are you?”

Matthew froze. He swallowed thickly, biting his lip. Since when did Alfred get so good at reading him, he wondered. Still, he played dumb. “Why do you say that?” he asked, his soft voice barely audible over the cars zooming by.

Alfred sighed. “C’mon, you know why. You were totally fine a few minutes ago. We were just walkin’ like we normally do, and then you start moping.”

“I wasn’t moping…” he said. Or was he? “I think.” 

“Mattie…are there people messing with you?” Alfred asked after a silence.

Matthew’s eyes widened, his brows furrowed in confusion. His brother’s voice had taken on a completely different tone. “W-What?”

“Are people messing with you?” he repeated, gripping Matthew’s shoulder. “Giving you a hard time?”

Matthew shook his head vigorously. “Of course not!”

Alfred wanted to press him further, ask who these bullies were. He wanted to know their names, what year they were in, what made them think they could mess with his brother without him knowing about it. But he didn’t. The puzzled expression on Matthew’s face was answer enough. There were no bullies; he was telling the truth. He released Matthew’s shoulder, the tension in his body slowly disappearing. He was relieved to find that his suspicions were wrong, but he still didn’t know what was eating at his brother, and it bothered him.

“Then…what is it?” Alfred asked again, frowning deeply.

Matthew almost felt like laughing. Almost. It was ironic, he thought, that Alfred would think other students picked on him. To be picked on, he first had to be acknowledged, and that wasn’t exactly Matthew’s strong suit. Plus, he was handicapped. No one made fun of the handicapped. Not legitimately, anyway. Matthew had gotten enough pity in his short sixteen years to last him the rest of his life. Bullying was the least of his worries. Still, he appreciated his brother’s concern. It made him feel…important.

“I’m just…nervous,” he admitted. “Meeting new people is…well, it’s kind of a chore. I don’t exactly click with people as well as you do,” he said sheepishly, which was just a less depressing way of saying that his peers preferred to talk to people that weren’t him.

“Aw, don’t sweat it, bro!” Alfred said, relieved to hear that it was just a case of the nerves. The signal they’d been waiting on turned bright green and the boys crossed, Alfred doing his best to avoid puddles. Matthew winced as his counterpart gave his back a few hardy slaps. “Besides, everyone gets a little nervous on the first day, you know? Don't worry. You'll be fine, Mattie.”

Matthew smiled, starting to feel at ease. Maybe this year would be different than the last. There was no way of knowing for sure, but Alfred’s optimism was contagious. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” he said with a grin. “I’m the-”

“Hero. Yeah, I know,” Matthew laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious about how prosthetic eyes function, or what a socket without an eye looks like (it's nowhere near as unsettling as it sounds, believe me), there are plenty of great live visuals you can find online.


	4. What's Your Sign?

⠠⠺⠓⠁⠞⠀⠊⠎⠀⠠⠽⠕⠥⠗⠀⠠⠎⠊⠛⠝

Her name was Samantha. Matthew didn’t know much about her, but for the two minutes he’d spoken to her, he’d learned that she was an only child and had a poodle named Patricia. He’d also learned that she wasn’t the best conversationalist. Matthew was trying his best to stay optimistic, he really was, but with the way things were progressing, or rather, not progressing, it wasn’t as easy as he’d hoped. He sat patiently at his newly assigned desk, his hands shoved into the front pocket of his favorite hoodie.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Alfred had said once they’d arrived at his first class of the day, seeing Matthew off with a wave and a smile. And his brother was right; he was perfectly fine. The girl across from him, however, seemed to be in a bit of a daze.

“So, uh…” 

He held back a sigh as the fidgeting girl fell silent once again. She had started to shuffle her feet against the floor, which he guessed was her way of coping with being in her current situation. Talking with him, that is. She seemed restless, and her efforts to keep conversation were beyond pitiful. It was painfully obvious to Matthew that the girl was uncomfortable, and he was the reason why. Even so, Matthew made sure to give a small, encouraging smile as she forced herself to speak.

"What's your favorite color?" she asked. As the last word left her mouth she gasped, clasping a hand over her mouth. “Oh wait,” she groaned inwardly, “you don’t understand colors, right?”

Much to Matthew’s disappointment, this first day was turning out to be just as excruciating as all the rest. The sophomore had fallen victim yet again to the dreaded ice breaker, and he wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. Talking to complete strangers about meaningless aspects of their lives was awkward enough for Matthew, but listening to them trip over their words as they struggled to interact with him was the icing on the cake.

Matthew smiled gently, shaking his head. “No, it’s fine. It’s—”

“I swear I’m not trying to be funny!” The girl insisted, throwing up her hands defensively at her chest. “I’m sorry for offending you! I-It’s just that I’m not really used to, um,” she trailed off. She nibbled on her bottom lip and fiddled with the hem of her skirt, trying to think of what more she could say. “Crap,” she sighed in defeat. “I’ve never really, you know—”

“It’s red.”

The girl tilted her head to the side, raising an arched brow. “Huh?”

“My favorite color,” Matthew repeated. “It’s red.”

“Oh…” she said, laughing nervously. She played with her pin straight hair, the bangles she wore jangling slightly at her wrist. “So…you _do_ know what colors look like?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Oh…”

The confusion in her voice was readily apparent, but she made no attempt to question him, and so Matthew chose not to elaborate. After all, they were supposed to be talking about dull, ice breaker-y things, like their hobbies and pets they had at home, not his knowledge of the color spectrum. But Matthew had done this countless times before, and he was used to being overshadowed by his shortcomings. It was a bittersweet sort of experience, the ice breakers. Sure the conversations were awkward and stilted, but he was socializing. It was forced socializing, but socializing nonetheless. Just as he opened his mouth to ask his next obligatory question, his teacher demanded the attention of the classroom, bringing the discussions to a halt.

“Alright, class,” she began. “We’re going to switch it up once more.” She smirked slightly as a chorus of groans rang throughout the room. “I like that enthusiasm.” She turned to the chalkboard and grabbed an eraser, wiping away the directions she’d written a few minutes earlier. 

“This will be our last go around, and I won’t be assigning you partners. But-” She held up a finger, narrowing her eyes. “I want you to go find somebody that you _haven’t_ spoken to yet. And don’t think I don’t know which of you already know each other,” she added, “because I do.” She seated herself on the edge of her desk and crossed her legs, smiling playfully. “I’ll be watching closely. Now, start chatting.”

Matthew hadn’t even had time to blink before the girl across from him scurried away, leaving a trail of sickly sweet perfume behind her. He sighed softly, neither saddened nor surprised by her hasty departure. Besides, he already knew. He knew that had the girl not been forced to talk with him, then she most certainly would have avoided him. It was what everyone did. Not because he was strange or unpopular, or anything so superficial, but because he was who he was. Everyone knew who he was. Teachers, students, people at the grocery store—he was basically a celebrity. Matthew Bonnefoy,"the blind kid." 

It was impossible not to spot him in the halls, with his thin white cane gripped firmly in one hand and his textbooks in the other. Every morning he would make his way to class, listening as students pushed and shoved at their friends, telling them in hushed whispers to move out of his way. A small side-step and a polite apology were about the only acknowledgements he would receive from his peers on a day-to-day basis. Matthew was far from oblivious. Even without seeing their faces, he knew. He knew that he, or more specifically his blindness, made people uncomfortable. Students always seemed so uneasy around him, hesitant to speak to him. Matthew knew he shouldn’t let it bother him. But he also knew that when he walked into school each morning, it was as if he was barely even there. And that was something he would never be able to ignore.

Matthew shook his head, snapping out of his troubled musings. He had more awkward socializing to do, and he certainly couldn’t do that while he was sitting off in the corner like some loner. He mentally scolded himself for spacing out and reached for his cane that he'd set against the wall. But then a voice reached his ears among the buzz of steady chatter, and he froze.

“I take it ice breakers aren’t your thing?”

Matthew slowly sat back in his seat, turning to face the stranger. The voice was deep, obviously male, with an accent he couldn't quite place. Something European maybe? It held no familiarity whatsoever, which caught him off guard, but he managed to stutter out a response.

“O-Oh, well I—”

“I’m Gilbert,” the other said, the smile he wore one of mischief. "Gilbert Beilschmidt." He stole a nearby chair from an empty desk and sat in it backwards, settling himself comfortably at the opposite end of Matthew’s desk. “Mind if I hide back here with you?”

Matthew sat there with his mouth slightly open, completely stupefied by the fact that someone had come up to him of their own volition, introduced themselves, and taken a seat across from him. To say it was surreal would have been an understatement.

Gilbert chuckled, leaning forward on the hind legs of his chair. “I know my sheer awesomeness is pretty hard to handle, but it’s never shaken a guy silent before.”

“Uh, sorry,” Matthew said hurriedly, a light flush rising to his cheeks. “N-No, I don’t mind.” He wondered if he should mention that he wasn’t actually hiding, but quickly decided against it as the truth was sort of embarrassing. “I’m Matthew,” he added. "Bonnefoy."

"Bohn-fwah," Gilbert repeated, smirking to himself. It didn't sound as delicate coming from his own lips. "Fancy."

"Not really," Matthew answered, face still warm from the sudden attention. "Just French."

"Is there a difference?"

Matthew cracked a smile. "Maybe not," he said. Gilbert watched as Matthew gave a sort of shrug, eager to find out just how many more of those little grins he could coax out of his new partner. "Your accent," Matthew said after a pause. Although it wasn't very thick, it was still somewhat noticeable and it left him curious. "Can I ask what it is?"

Gilbert laughed, finding Matthew's politeness, however excessive, to be endearing. "I'm German. Was born in Berlin, but my old man moved us here 9 years ago when he got relocated for a job."

"Us?" Matthew repeated. "Do you have siblings?"

"A little brother, he goes here too. Name's Ludwig," he said, smirking as his chest swelled with pride. "Smart little shit could've skipped his sophomore year if he wanted. You?"

"Oh, I have a brother too," he replied. 

"Oh yeah? He go here?"

Matthew nodded. "His name is Alfred. He's my twin, actually."

"Huh." Gilbert chuckled. "Two of my best friends are twins too."

"Really?"

"Mmhm. But you'd never know it when they're apart. One's night and the other's day."

"I guess you could say that about me and Al too," Matthew mused aloud. "But even when we're together I think it's pretty obvious who's who. Only one of us wears glasses." 

"Yeah?" Gilbert looked to the wall next to them, where a red-tipped cane leaned against it. "Guess you just forgot to wear yours today, huh?" 

At first, Matthew could only respond with silence. Because as astonishing as it was to have met another student who felt comfortable enough to approach him, it was even more astonishing to discover that the guy felt comfortable enough to _joke_ with him. He brought a hand to cover his mouth as a huff of laugher escaped.

"I got you to laugh," Gilbert said, though it sounded like he couldn't believe the feat himself. He grinned then. "Wanna bet I can't do it again?"

"Not particularly," he laughed again, though this time it was a nervous one. He found himself blushing all over again when he felt Gilbert lean in closer.

Gilbert hummed and narrowed his eyes, carefully studying the soft-spoken boy in front of him. "Matthew, huh?" It was the first time Gilbert was able to clearly see his face. The only time he would see Matthew was in the crowded halls, but he would always walk with his head slightly down, and it mildly annoyed Gilbert for reasons he couldn’t quite understand.

His facial features were soft and somewhat feminine, and his long and wavy hair only made it even more so. Gilbert’s gaze lingered on Matthew’s eyes. They were a soft blue color, a shade so odd that they appeared to give off a purplish hue. They didn’t seem to be focused on him, or on anything in particular for that matter, but Gilbert just shrugged it off, knowing that it would be exceptionally unfair (and stupid) to expect eye contact from a guy who couldn’t even see him. He grinned, satisfied that he could now put a name to the strangely cute face.

“I like it,” he said, setting his chair safely back on the ground. “It has a hell of a lot more character than ‘the blind kid’ if you ask me.”

“Oh. That.” Matthew laughed to himself. "Uh, thanks." It was odd to hear it come from someone so directly; it was only ever said when people thought he wasn't within earshot. 'Thought' being the keyword. It was nice to know that someone else was as tired of the stupid alias as he was. He found himself smiling again, not knowing that Gilbert was keeping count.

“So, Matthew,” Gilbert said, his voice barely above a whisper. He watched Matthew lean in a bit to hear him better, and a crooked smile stretched across his face. “You come here often?” he asked.

Matthew’s brow crinkled in confusion, thrown off by both the question and the sudden change in the other’s voice. It was...smooth, sultry, and definitely not the same voice he’d heard just seconds earlier. “What?” he laughed sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“What’s your sign?” Gilbert continued, “Some say the zodiacs can make or break a relationship.”

“U-Uh…” It was obvious that the boy was joking, but Matthew still found himself struggling to find his voice, not exactly sure how he should respond. He absolutely hated how heated his face was getting. He was startled when Gilbert broke into a fit of laughter.

“Oh man, you should see your face,” he cackled. “Pinker than a newborn’s ass.”

Matthew tried to hold back another smile, but failed miserably. How could he with a comparison as ridiculous as that? “I’m sure it is,” he said, bowing his head in an effort to hide his face. Who exactly _was_ this guy, Matthew thought, flustered and yet amused all the same. And what in the world had possessed him to use the cheesiest pick-up line known to man on an unsuspecting stranger in the middle of a 10th grade English class?

“Tell me that wasn’t the most awesome ice breaker you’ve ever heard,” he said, grinning lopsidedly. 

“Well,” Matthew laughed, “it... _was_ pretty creative.”

“Can't say I disagree,“ he said, giving himself a congratulatory pat on the back. "It's just one of the perks, you know."

"Perks?"

"Of being this awesome."

Matthew’s lips curled up at either side as he gave a breathy laugh, marveled by how unapologetically arrogant the other was. He could just hear the smug delight dripping from every word that left his lips and picture the expression of satisfaction on his face. His aura reeked of confidence and certainty, from the firmness of his voice to the way he had practically claimed the opposite half of Matthew’s desk as his own. It was coming off of him in waves, reminding Matthew of just how weak his own presence was. It was somewhat intimidating to the young introvert and yet captivating at the same time. He found himself leaning forward just a bit more.

Gilbert straddled his chair, scoffing as he thought of all of the students he’d talked with over the class period. “I mean, how many times is someone gonna ask me what my favorite food is or how many pets I have? And I couldn't give even a quarter of a shit about some stranger's birthday, so I have no idea why everyone's been asking for mine. If we have to do this every year, we might as well make it fun, you know?”

Matthew wanted to laugh at how offended Gilbert sounded. “It does get old,” he said, chuckling. “I think three or four people asked me what my favorite animal was.”

“You’re joking.”

He shook his head. “My last partner asked for my favorite color.”

“Well, shit, then I guess all we’re missing are the crayons and graham crackers.” He smiled when he heard Matthew laugh again, and decided that it was a sound that he rather liked. "But I'm kinda curious now."

"Hm?"

"What _is_ your favorite color?"

Matthew made a face, a mixture of confusion and amusement. "Weren't we just making fun of those questions?" 

"We were," Gilbert replied with a slight shrug, grinning back at him. "But you can't go around telling everyone else and then not tell me. Remember who you're talking to here, Matthew." His smile grew wider as yet again his voice became a whisper, the other boy leaning in a second time. "Gimme the goods."

Gilbert was gifted with another laugh, though not without a head shake to accompany it. "Red," Matthew answered. 

"Red, huh?" Gilbert made a humming noise that had Matthew wondering if his answer really was that interesting. "That's a pretty loud color, _ja_?"

"Yeah, I guess?"

"Hmm. _Rot _," he said again, tongue rolling at the back of his throat. "Maybe you're a little feistier than you let on." He smirked as he watched the boy's face change hue. The very hue he claimed to like most. And Gilbert had to admit, he wore it well. "You don't have to hold back around me, you know. I can handle it."__

"I'm not holding back anything..."

Yeah," Gilbert snickered, "we'll see."

"I'm _not_."

"Are you getting _feisty_ with me, Matthew?" 

Matthew's face grew hotter, partially from embarrassment, partially from hearing his name yet again on this strange boy's tongue. He honestly wasn't used to other students calling him by name, and to hear it come from Gilbert not once, but three times over, in that teasing, mischievous tone of his, was...weird. It was weird, but he also kind of...liked it? 

"N-No," he answered hurriedly. He cleared his throat, his expression one of skepticism. "Are you saying you can read someone's whole personality just by knowing their favorite color?" 

"Are you saying you can't?" 

"Alright then, what's _your_ favorite color?" 

"Hey now, not everyone can do what I do," he said, wanting to laugh at the way Matthew quirked a brow. "I'm a tough one to crack. Don't bite off more than you can chew." 

Matthew hid another laugh behind his hand. "I think I'll be ok." 

"Don't say I didn't warn you." His smile softened as he noticed the other had begun to relax a little more, fingers no longer playing with the strings of his hooded sweatshirt. And was it just him, or was this kid a little closer than before? Not that he was complaining. Gilbert swore that his eyes were _violet_ from this close up. Not that he was staring at them that long to have noticed. He quickly spoke before the overdramatic silence turned into an awkward one. "Prussian blue."

"Blue?"

" _Prussian_ blue," he corrected. "The Prussian part's kind of important. And by 'kind of,' I mean extremely."

"Ok?" Matthew laughed. "And what makes _Prussian_ blue different from regular blue?"

"It's darker. Richer. You see it and it just screams power."

"Power, huh?"

Gilbert nodded. "I mean, it's named after the badass Kingdom of Prussia. Power, prestige, perseverance. At least that's what I see when I look at it."

It was Matthew's turn to scrutinize his partner's taste in shades, and he hummed before repeating, "Power, prestige, perseverance."

" _Genau_." Gilbert blushed as Matthew sent him a confused look, reminding him he was the only one who knew what he'd just said. "Exactly, I mean."

"Oh." Matthew smiled. "Somehow it fits you. Your...personality."

"And what's that, _Matthew_?"

"Very, um..." _Oh god, he did it again_ , Matthew thought, his cheeks going warm for the umpteenth time. "Bold."

"Heh. Sounds about right." Gilbert looked at the boy across from him, at that face that he'd only ever seen from afar until today. And he knew that it wouldn't be the last time he spoke to this kid. Not if he could help it. “Now, I’ve got a question for you that I can guarantee you haven’t been asked today.”

Matthew was rather curious now. “Ok,” he said after a moment’s pause. “Sure.”

“You free this Friday after school?” 

Matthew froze, stunned. He was anticipating another cheesy pick-up line or maybe a not-so-serious question about his favorite superhero or what he aspired to be when he grew up, something to that effect. But he definitely wasn’t expecting what he’d just heard, and it blindsided him. He hadn’t realized how humiliatingly stupid he must have looked until he heard what Gilbert said next.

“You ok?” he asked, a brow disappearing into his platinum blond bangs. The boy looked like he had seen a ghost, blue eyes wide and mouth ajar. 

“Y-Yes, I’m fine. Sorry,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “I was just thinking of something. Friday you said?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a club I’m staying after for,” he explained, “You should come. I mean, unless you’ve got plans that day. If you’re busy, that’s cool. Don’t worry about it."

“No,” Matthew replied, shaking his head. He said it only after a considerable pause, as if he had to think about whether or not he would be available. The last thing he wanted to do was come off too excited, and ruin what he was already sure was too good to be true. “I don’t have plans.”

The truth was that Matthew _never_ had plans, at least not with people who weren’t his family. He was _always_ available. Nearly every afternoon he sat off in his favorite corner of the school’s library, listening to audio books or doing homework as he waited for his brother to finish wrestling practice. On rare occasions (usually when the library was closed) he would sit in on Alfred’s practices, but he really preferred not to. Listening to obnoxious teenage boys pummel each other to the floor wasn’t exactly relaxing. 

“Awesome. Then you should come. Only if you want to.”

“Ok, I’ll come,” he said, smiling more openly than Gilbert had seen up to that moment. It was still a modest little smile, but somehow a little less timid than the ones before it. “What’s the club called?”

“That’s a secret,” he replied, laughing at the confused look on Matthew’s face.

“But how can I find it if I don’t know the club name?”

“It’s pretty hard to find regardless,” he said with a shrug. “And I know you’ve never been in the general area let alone the room. But that isn’t your fault. Only a certain group of students know about it. But don’t worry,” he soothed. “I’m gonna take you there personally. We need to meet up somewhere after school.”

“Alright.” Matthew took a few seconds to think. “Hm, how about in front of the library?” he suggested. It was at the center of the school and was easy to get to from any area of the building.

“Library it is then.” Gilbert glanced at Matthew as he nodded in agreement and noticed that his cheeks were still stained pink. It was kind of cute. He wondered if he was still flustered over the awesomely clever ice breaker he’d used. The way he’d reacted was also kind of cute, and he was pretty sure that he wanted to see it again. He leaned back against the empty desk behind him, resting on his elbows. “Now that we’ve got that settled,” he said, “maybe you can finally answer my question.”

“Huh? What question?”

Gilbert smirked devilishly. “What’s your sign?”

“W-Wha—Stop asking that!” Matthew demanded, his face reigniting. It sounded like more of a plea. “The ice is broken!” His words were drowned out by Gilbert’s bizarre cackling, and Matthew soon found it impossible not to join in.

His name was Gilbert. Matthew didn’t know much about him, but during the short time he'd spent in his company, he’d learned that Gilbert was like no one he’d ever met. He’d also learned that Gilbert was an excellent, if not expert, conversationalist. He was brash in his actions, bold with his tongue. He was cocky, playful, and even obnoxious at times. He demanded attention, demanded his voice be heard. He and Matthew couldn’t be any more different, but Matthew couldn’t help but be drawn to him. And as he headed home that afternoon chatting along with his brother at his side, he realized that that day was the first time in a long time that he’d actually felt…normal. And it was all because of Gilbert Beilschmidt.


	5. The Fucking Club

⠠⠞⠓⠑⠀⠠⠋⠥⠉⠅⠊⠝⠛⠀⠠⠉⠇⠥⠃

The hallways were always so quiet after school. It was a sort of quiet that Matthew usually appreciated, but right now it did nothing but make him more anxious than he already was. He released a nervous breath as a janitor walked by, pushing his wheeled trashcan and humming an obscure tune as he swept the floor. That wasn’t who he was waiting for either. He felt so silly standing there at the library’s entrance, listening obsessively to people walking by, and wondering if the next person would be _his_ person. He hadn’t been waiting but for a few minutes, and so he had to remind himself to be patient. 

In an attempt to distract himself, he filled his mind with other thoughts, like what kind of club he was going to and why it was a secret. The more that Matthew thought about it though, the less he cared. He didn’t really care what kind of club it was. All he cared about was that someone had been kind enough to invite him. He found himself smiling as he leaned against the brick wall behind him. 

“You that happy to see me?” Gilbert asked as he approached the other. He snickered when Matthew’s head snapped in his direction, the smile on his face disappearing as a soft gasp escaped his lips. “I can’t blame you,” he said, shrugging. “I have that kind of effect on people. You know, being me and all.”

“Gilbert,” Matthew laughed shyly, slightly embarrassed that he hadn’t heard the boy walking his way. 

“The one and only,” he boasted, smirking to himself. “You ready?” 

“Yeah. But,” Matthew hesitated momentarily, “could you lead me?”

“Of course I will, Mattie,” he laughed. “That’s why I’m here. I won’t walk fast, don’t worry.”

“Uh…well, what I mean is,” Matthew attempted to elaborate, and Gilbert looked questioningly at him as he folded his lengthy cane, collapsing it into the size of a ruler. “Could you hold out your arm?” 

“My…arm?” 

Matthew blushed as he slipped the cane’s strap onto his wrist. “So I can hold on to it?” He groaned inwardly, wishing that he could say the request in a way that didn’t sound so awkward. “I-I don’t know where I’m going so… it’d be easier to follow if I could just…”

It was never this complicated with Alfred; Alfred would just offer his arm, Matthew would take it, and they’d be on their merry way. But Gilbert didn’t know proper guiding etiquette and Matthew hadn’t expected him to. Even so, he hadn’t anticipated it would be so cumbersome to explain. 

Gilbert was thoroughly enjoying the way Matthew’s face had reddened considerably, but decided that it would be downright cruel to let him ramble on any longer. He’d gotten the picture after the first explanation. “Alright,” he chuckled. “I gotcha. Here,” he said, extending his arm so that the stammering boy could take hold.

Matthew reached out and gently gripped his arm just above the elbow, his fingers resting against the cottony fabric of Gilbert’s sleeve. His nose twitched as he caught a generous whiff of whatever fragrance Gilbert was wearing. He guessed it was either that, or the lingering scent of his preferred laundry detergent. Either way, Matthew thought it smelled nice. He licked his lips, his eyes lowering bashfully to the floor. “Thanks.” 

“Yep,” Gilbert said as he began to walk, Matthew one step behind him. He looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Look,” he laughed, “you obviously know a lot about being blind, and I know jack shit, so don’t be scared to set me straight, alright? You need me to do something, stop doing something, whatever, you let me know.”

“Okay,” Matthew laughed, feeling himself relax. He was so used to people walking on eggshells when they spoke to him, mincing their words, carefully picking and choosing what they would say next so as not to offend him. Gilbert did no such thing, and Matthew didn’t mind it in the slightest. He liked it. A lot. 

Facing forward again, he raised a curious brow as a thought crossed his mind. “How the hell did you make it here before me, anyway? My last class is just the next hallway down. Didn’t mean to make you wait.”

“Oh, no it’s fine,” Matthew insisted, shaking his head. “I wasn’t waiting long at all. And to be fair,” he said with a guilty smile, “I took the elevator down. You know, blind kid privileges.”

Gilbert laughed. “I almost forgot about those things.” They were hidden in the strangest areas of the school. He figured they were set up that way to keep students who didn’t actually need them from abusing them. Those who could find them still did so anyway when staff wasn’t looking. “I guess you use them a lot?”

“Actually, no. I can walk and use stairs just fine, so I usually avoid them. But I was afraid I might get held up in the halls once classes let out, and I didn’t wanna keep you waiting so…I chose the quicker option.” 

“Yeah, end-day crowds are a bitch to get through,” he said as they turned a corner. “Maybe you should let me hitch a ride with you next time.”

Matthew hummed as if in thought and then smirked. “If you can get a cane or a wheelchair, we may be able to work something out. Maybe borrow some crutches from the nurse.” Gilbert laughed that one-of-a-kind laugh of his, and Matthew heard a classroom door slam shut as they passed, giggling when Gilbert scoffed about “losers” not appreciating his “awesomeness.”

The two spent a few more minutes making their way through the hallways before they finally arrived at an isolated door, Matthew mumbling an apology when he collided with Gilbert’s back. Gilbert stared nostalgically at the worn door, its face covered in all kinds of amateur grade pencil graffiti. On the wall off to the side was a plaque containing the numbers “001” in big bold print. A wide grin crept onto his face as he looked over to the boy on his arm. 

"It’s a good thing you said you can handle stairs,” he said, grabbing the handle and slowly opening the door. “’Cause we’re about to go down a lot of ‘em.”

It was cold and damp and the air smelled strongly of mildew. 

“Gilbert, where are we?” Matthew asked, grimacing as he breathed in the stale air. He’d wanted to ask the moment they’d started descending the staircase, but became too preoccupied with keeping his balance. The stairs were freakishly steep and there were indeed many of them; the last thing he wanted was to lose his footing and put the both of them in the hospital. “It smells horrible.”

“The basement,” he chuckled, his eyes adjusting to the dingy room’s dim lighting. “And that smell, also basement. It’ll get better once we leave this room.”

“Basement?” Matthew repeated, utterly confused. He followed in Gilbert’s footsteps, noting how the floor beneath his feet had suddenly changed. It was a little bumpy, like concrete. “The school has a _basement_?"

Gilbert smirked as he opened the door leading out of the room, making sure to hold it open until Matthew had reached it himself. “Like I said, secret.”

Gilbert hadn’t lied; as the door closed behind him, Matthew noticed that the smell had gotten significantly better and the air was less damp. Still, he found himself slightly disoriented when the floor at his feet changed once again, back to the smooth tile he was familiar with. He was dying to know where they were. As if right on cue, Gilbert explained.

“See, not a lot of people know it, but there’re classrooms down here,” his voice echoed off the cinderblock walls. “But they haven’t been used for actual classes in years. Now most of the rooms are just for storage, chairs and tables and all that. But one of them, the one we’re going to, is open to kids after school.”

“Wow,” Matthew breathed. “That’s amazing…So, this is a hallway we’re walking through?”

Gilbert nodded, humming affirmatively in response. “Exactly like the ones above us. Only a lot dirtier,” he said, eyeing the thick layer of dust on the ceiling lights and floor. “If they make anyone clean down here, it sure as hell isn’t often.”

Matthew was about to ask Gilbert how he knew about such a place when his guide came to a stop. Luckily he caught himself before he ran into him a second time. He’d have to talk to Gilbert about warning him the next time around.

“Ok, we’re here.” He turned to Matthew, who released his arm, and smiled. “I want you to meet some friends of mine while we’re here.”

“Alright.” Matthew was ready, but he couldn’t ignore the tightness in his stomach. He was only seconds away from walking through that door and meeting complete strangers. By some miracle he’d met Gilbert and they had gotten along amazingly, but he doubted the dodgy forces of the universe would be giving him any more breaks. As Gilbert opened the door, the murmur of steady conversation reached Matthew's ears, and he took a deep breath.

###### 

A few heads turned as the boys entered the classroom, but quickly turned back after confirming it wasn’t a teacher. Gilbert strolled to the large desk at the front of the classroom to address the teacher seated behind it. Matthew followed closely behind him, cane in hand. The man had his back turned to the classroom, eyes glued to his computer monitor. On the monitor’s display was a video clip; a pair of kittens entertaining themselves with cardboard boxes. Gilbert had to stifle a laugh. 

Glancing around at his surrounding space revealed that the man hadn’t changed even a little from the last time Gilbert had seen him, an assortment of tiny knick-knacks of the feline variety littering his desk. He rolled his eyes fondly and cleared his throat loud enough for the other to hear. He grinned when the teacher looked back, fixing him with a level stare.

“Gilbert,” he said, his voice mellow. “I see you finally made it.” He wheeled back in his chair, settling behind his desk before fishing through his drawer for a pen. 

“You think I’d skip out, Mr. K? After all we’ve been through?” Gilbert tried to sound as hurt as possible.

Mr. Karpusi cracked the slightest smile, scribbling down something on the paper in front of him. “You wouldn’t be the first. Who is this?” he asked, looking to the quiet boy at Gilbert’s side. Noticing the boy’s cane, he frowned, wondering why on earth someone so seemingly harmless was standing in his classroom, and with Gilbert no less. 

“This is my friend, Matthew,” he said. “He’s not scheduled to be here, but I asked if he’d keep me company today.”

Mr. Karpusi nodded. “Nice to meet you, Matthew.”

“You too, sir,” he said with a polite smile.

The teacher looked back and forth between the boys, his lazy gaze settling suspiciously on the lighter blond. “Gilbert is very lucky to have such a nice friend.”

Matthew smiled awkwardly, not really knowing how he should respond.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gilbert asked, narrowing his eyes. “You trying to say I’m not nice?” He scoffed when the teacher only smirked in response. 

“You remember the rules, don’t you? Do I need to remind you how things work here?”

“ _Ja ja, alles klar_ ,” Gilbert sighed. “It hasn’t been that long since I came here.”

“Alright,” he said, holding back a yawn as he wheeled himself back to his computer. “Have fun.” 

Gilbert looked back and scanned the rows of desks behind them, smirking when he located his friends. “C’mon, Mattie. We’re heading to the back.” 

“O-Ok.” Matthew followed after him closely, squeezing through the crowded desks.

“Hey, losers,” Gilbert greeted as he approached his friends, slipping into a seat across from them. Matthew took the one in front of Gilbert, still slightly nervous.

“Gilbert, you’re here!” The taller of the two beamed and looked to the sulking boy at his side. “Lovi, Gilbert’s here!”

“I have eyes. I can fucking see him,” the other grumbled, glowering at the blond’s smug face.

“Aww, was Lovino asking about me, Toni?”

“Oh, you fucking wish,” he snapped, arms crossed defiantly at his chest. “I couldn't give two shits about you. Bastard.”

Antonio grinned. “He was sure you weren’t gonna show up.”

“Well, fret no more.” Gilbert gave a dramatic bow. 

Lovino scoffed. “Only an idiot like you would show up late. You’re just lucky Karpusi doesn’t give a single fuck. That cat obsessed freak.”

Gilbert rolled his eyes. “Which is exactly why I took my sweet time getting here. Quit your whining. I’m here, aren’t I?”

Matthew was completely amazed, if not a little more anxious. That was four expletives and three insults in under a minute from a single person. He wondered what exactly had put this guy in such a sour mood. Strangely enough, Gilbert seemed to be completely unfazed by his increasingly colorful vocabulary. The boy with the thick Spanish accent sounded rather nice though. 

“Now, if you’re done with your little hissy fit, it’s time for introductions,” he said, motioning to Matthew. 

“Matthew, this guy here is named Antonio.”

“Ah, I recognized you when you were walking over.” Antonio smiled brightly. “I’m glad to finally know your name, _amigo_. _Hola_.”

“Hola,” he said with a shy smile. 

“And next to him,” Gilbert continued, pointing to the other, “is his charming boyfriend, Lovino.” His auburn hair was as fiery as his temper, though he seemed to be simmering down.

“Hi,” Matthew said in a way that he hoped wasn’t as awkward as he felt. Which was pretty awkward considering.

Lovino silently looked Matthew over and smirked. “I know you," he replied. "Kid Moses.”

“H-Huh?”

Gilbert snickered. “It’s what he called you every time we saw you in the halls.”

“I wish people would move the fuck out of my way like they do when you walk by,” Lovino grumbled. “It’s like in that stupid bible story. Like you’re parting the Red Sea or some shit.”

Matthew laughed at that. That actually made him sound pretty cool. “I guess I never really thought about it.”

Lovino simply shrugged. “Matthew it is then.” He eyed the blond’s meek face with skepticism. He looked so…out of place. “How’d you even get in here?” he asked. “Potato breath got you in here, didn’t he?”

“Uh,” Matthew laughed nervously, “you mean Gilbert?” He was seriously starting to question Gilbert’s definition of the word “friend.” He nodded. “Yes, he, um, invited me.” 

Lovino frowned, looking at Matthew like he’d said the sky was green. “He _what_ ?” He looked to Gilbert, narrowing his eyes. “You _what_ ?”

He shrunk back in his seat a little. “H-Hey,” he said, raising his hands defensively. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“You invited him?” Antonio asked, tilting his head to the side. “Here?” Even the Spaniard was giving him the wary eye, and it was then that Gilbert knew that he’d have to come clean. 

“Alright,” he said with a defeated sigh. “I was gonna have to say it sooner or later. Let me explain.” 

Matthew tensed, sensing how the mood had suddenly changed. “Explain what?”

Gilbert looked to the boy in front of him, frowning apologetically at the uneasiness written all over Matthew’s face. “Matthew,” he said with a sheepish grin, “this isn’t exactly...a club.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Lovino perked up in his seat. “You told him this was a _club_?” He barked out a laugh and Gilbert glared at him.

“It’s…not?”

“Look, this is detention, kid. But hey, if that isn’t what he told you it was, then welcome to the fucking club!” he laughed, ignoring Antonio’s warnings to quiet down.

“D-Detention?” He frowned in disbelief. “But…everyone’s talking.” He was pretty sure that wasn’t allowed in detention. And as far as he could tell, no one was busy writing essays about what they did wrong. He was pretty sure that happened in detention, not that he’d ever been before. But these sorts of things were what generally happened, weren’t they?

“Well,” Antonio laughed. “It’s a special kind of detention.” 

“Didn’t you hear?” Lovino sighed as he caught his breath, his laughing fit at its end. “It’s a _club_ now.” He looked over at Matthew, who looked completely lost, and shook his head in pity. He then looked to Gilbert and snorted. “What’s the name of our club, huh? Are you club president?”

“Fuck off,” he growled and swiftly flipped him the bird, his cheeks a pale pink hue. Bringing his attention back to the boy he’d left in the dark, his expression softened. “Look, I like talking to you, Mattie.” 

It was so straightforward, and completely unexpected. Matthew couldn’t even find the words to respond. He simply sat there, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. Gilbert only chuckled. 

“It was only for a few minutes,” he said, shrugging, “but I had fun. And I never have fun doing that ice breaker shit. That's why I asked if you’d come here. I knew I was gonna be stuck in this room today and, well, I thought it’d be less of a drag with you here.” 

“Me?” Matthew finally found his voice. It was barely above a whisper, but it was there. He knew he was blushing, hard. But for some strange reason, he found himself not caring. He was still in somewhat of a daze.

“Yeah you,” Gilbert laughed. “Don’t sound so surprised. I couldn’t exactly ask you to come to detention with me so…I got a little creative. Sorry.” 

“So, this is how you make friends?” Lovino huffed out a breathy laugh. “In-fucking-credible.”

Gilbert smirked, rolling his eyes. “You know, you seem more pissy than usual today,” he said, his tone laced with faux concern. “Is something wrong?”

“You’re the reason I’m even _in_ this fucking room, you bastard!”

“Heh, yeah because I _made_ you fall asleep.”

“If you had just shut your big fucking mouth, I wouldn’t be here, you damn kraut muncher!”

Gilbert laughed again, chin resting casually on the palm of his hand. "Yeah, well, kraut's fucking delicious, so you'll have to come up with something better than that, _Schatz_."

“Ok, ok,” Antonio said, standing between the bickering pair. “Let’s all just calm down.” 

“Shut up,” Lovino snapped, albeit with less volume. “This is your fault too.”

Antonio smiled sheepishly, returning to his seat when he was sure the Italian had calmed down. “It’s only an hour, Lovi. It’ll be over before you know it.” He looked up front and sighed with relief when he saw Mr. Karpusi hadn’t budged from in front of his computer.

Matthew suddenly laughed. It surprised everyone, even Matthew himself. He cupped a hand over his mouth, slightly embarrassed, but the chuckles kept coming. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was so funny to him; it was a combination of things. The fact that he’d actually believed Gilbert’s “secret club,” the realization of what Mr. Karpusi meant when they’d spoken a few minutes earlier, it was all beginning to add up. And the way Gilbert and Lovino were going at it, well…he’d have to admit that was pretty funny too.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh,” Matthew said, flustered at having become the center of attention. They all had gone silent; he knew they were looking at him.

“Whatever.” Lovino waved a dismissive hand, slumping back in his seat. “I’m just wondering why the hell you aren’t strangling this bastard right now. You could be home right now, but instead you're sitting in detention. Aren’t you pissed?”

“Well…” Matthew trailed off, eyes falling to the floor.

Gilbert frowned slightly, knowing that Matthew had every right to be angry with him. He waited with baited breath, hoping that he hadn’t already ruined a friendship before it truly began. He tensed as Matthew's eyes shifted in his direction, and he almost missed a breath as Matthew flashed a cheerful smile.

“You didn’t have to lie, Gilbert. I still would’ve come.”

It was now Gilbert who was suffering from verbal constipation. He was still enthralled by the smile gracing the other’s lips. Those warm blue eyes were on him, and that smile, it was so genuine. His chest suddenly felt light. It wasn’t at all the kind of reaction he’d been expecting. “You…really?”

“Yeah,” Matthew said, nodding. “If you had just told me it would be like this, I would’ve still come with you. This doesn’t feel like detention at all. I still can’t really believe it,” he laughed.

Gilbert grinned. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but that’s because Mr. K is up there at that desk. His only rules are that we talk quietly and watch for the door. I wouldn’t have asked you here if it was any other teacher.”

Antonio looked at Matthew, curious. “So, you don’t mind staying after school for this?” It was strange, he thought. That someone would be so willing to spend their Friday sitting in a classroom after school.

“Yeah, are you a masochist, kid?” Lovino was of the same opinion. “Why the hell would you want to come to this shithole if you could just go home?” he asked, incredulous.

“Uh, no, I’m not,” Matthew said, blushing. “I don’t really mind because I stay after school nearly everyday anyway,” he explained. “Alfre—er, my brother has practice after school most days and we walk home together. So, I usually wait for him in the library until he’s finished.”

“Oh, well that makes sense.” Antonio nodded in understanding.

“Tch. Well, you can be happy that idiot brought you in here. I won’t,” Lovino scoffed. 

“ _Um Gottes willen_ ,” Gilbert groaned. 

“I don’t know what the fuck you just said. I don’t speak kraut.”

“Um…” All eyes settled on Matthew again as he spoke up again. “Can I ask why you guys got detention?” He hoped he wasn’t out of line. “I mean, it’s only the first week of school.” 

“You wanna know why I’m in here with these idiots? I’ll tell you why.”

Gilbert sighed. “Here we go.”

It didn’t take long for Matthew to learn that Lovino was a rather passionate storyteller. There was a lot of cursing and insults flying everywhere, but he eventually got the full story. According to Lovino, the three of them were written up on the very last day of school while the class was watching a film. The lights were off, and Lovino had decided to take a nap, while Gilbert and Antonio opted for talking between themselves. The two ended up bursting into uncontrollable laughter, and when the teacher came to the back of the class to scold them, she found Lovino sleeping. All three of them were given slips that day.

Matthew hummed in understanding. “So that’s why you’re in detention this week. You were written up on the last day.” He then frowned. “What kind of teacher would do that?”

“A fucking sub.”

“Sub?”

“Yep,” Gilbert said, nodding as he leaned forward on his desk. “It was a substitute. Our actual teacher had left a week earlier.”

“I had a feeling she didn’t like us very much,” Antonio said, frowning. “I think that’s why she wrote us up. Lovino and I had never been written up until that day.” He laughed, shrugging nonchalantly. “I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

“Stop sounding so happy when you say that,” Lovino pouted.

Matthew didn’t bother to hide his amusement as he listened to Lovino grumble at Antonio under his breath. He couldn’t believe that he was making friends in after school detention of all places, in a room he never would have stepped foot in had he not met Gilbert. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so happy meeting new people. It almost felt like he was dreaming. 

Lovino glanced over at Matthew, sighing in disappointment when he realized that Matthew had no intentions of injuring his asshole of a friend. "Don't say I didn't warn you, kid," he said, a smirk on his lips. "He'll get on your last fucking nerve."

Antonio laughed, shaking his head. "He's only kidding."

"I don't kid."

Gilbert couldn't even be bothered to reply to the Lovino's childish comments. Not while he was still admiring the smile on Matthew's face. “Mattie,” came Gilbert’s voice, unusually soft. 

“Yes?”

“Sorry. For, you know, lying.” He sighed softly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I just…really wanted you to come.” Matthew just laughed, the sound airy and light, and Gilbert began to wonder why his mouth had gotten so dry.

“It’s ok,” he said, cheeks tinged pink. “I'm glad I came.”


	6. Patchwork

⠠⠏⠁⠞⠉⠓⠺⠕⠗⠅

“That’s him.”

“Yes, it is.”

“What is he doing here?”

“You ask me that as if I would know.”

“Don’t be a smart ass, Braginsky.”

Alfred rolled his eyes as his teammate let loose a tiny little giggle, a childlike smile tugging at his lips. It used to genuinely disturb Alfred that so innocent a sound could come from a guy as big and brawny as Ivan. But after having no choice but to spend nearly every afternoon around him, what with him being co-captain and all, it no longer bothered him as much as it used to. It was still annoying as ever though, even more so because what he was currently looking at was no laughing matter.

As he stood outside of the library peering none too discreetly inside via the display window, he frowned, his eyes narrowing with fierce scrutiny. His brother was inside as per usual, waiting for him like he always did. But he wasn’t alone. _He_ was there, the German kid with the freakishly pale skin and glaring red eyes. Alfred had been seeing a lot of his face lately, particularly because he’d made a strong habit of loitering around his brother’s locker. And around his brother in general.

The first time Alfred had seen Gilbert, he’d had to do a double take. Though his albinism was quite striking at first glance, it wasn't really Gilbert himself that surprised Alfred, but more so who he was with. Right at his side was Matthew. It was the strangest thing, to see his brother on the arm of a total stranger. Matthew rarely asked for assistance from strangers at school, especially considering he was more than familiar with the layout of the building. So when Alfred saw him walking down the hall clinging to the unfamiliar boy, he was completely baffled. And if he was honest with himself, a little bothered. 

The feeling nagged at him as the weeks passed, as Gilbert became a part of Matthew’s mornings and afternoons, and by association, Alfred’s mornings and afternoons. In the mornings before class, Gilbert was there. Occasionally, Alfred saw Matthew in the halls between periods; Gilbert would be there too, right next to him. And now as Alfred stood in front of the library, there he was once again. He seemed to come out of thin air, this kid, and now Alfred couldn’t go but a few days without seeing him. Gilbert was a friend, Matthew had said, and Alfred had shaken his hand as they were introduced, smiling cordially as he looked for something, anything in those strange red eyes that would confirm his suspicions. He would find that something soon. He was sure of it. 

“It is not very nice to spy on your brother, Fredka,” Ivan said, smirking with amusement.

“Dude, c’mon. It’s not even like that,” he said, breaking his concentration to glare at Ivan. “And don’t call me that,” he mumbled under his breath. 

Ivan hummed, pleased with the warm red glow that had spread across Alfred’s face. “You did not seem to mind last Friday night,” he said, clasping his hands innocently behind his back. “In fact, if I remember correctly, you rather enjoyed it. Yes?”

“Fuck you.” 

“I would rather you,” Ivan purred, smile as smug as Alfred’s face was red.

“J-Just shut up.” Alfred didn’t need to be reminded of their sporadic flings; every time he saw Ivan and his big, stupid nose and his girly pink scarf it was all he could do to _not_ think about them. About how that nose would nuzzle against his neck, about how that scarf felt between his fingers as he tugged on it in a blissful haze. It was embarrassing to think about how just a year ago he would’ve given anything to punch the Russian square in his jaw, the same jaw he now placed kisses on when no one was looking. He pouted, avoiding the other’s taunting gaze. “Quit distracting me.”

Ivan looked to the table inside where the two boys sat beside each other, laughing and smiling about something he didn’t care to know about. Then he looked back to Alfred, who was snooping just as intently as before. He sighed softly. “If this is not spying, then what is it?” He grimaced slightly as a thought ran through his mind. “You are reminding me of my little sister.”

Alfred winced himself, remembering the few unpleasant run-ins he’d had with said sister. “It’s not spying,” he insisted. “I’m just…checking up on him, ok?” He turned to Ivan, crossing his arms at his chest. “Don’t you know anything about this guy? Anything? I thought you said you had a class with him once.”

Ivan shrugged. “He is very arrogant. And rather obnoxious.”

Alfred huffed. “Why would Mattie wanna be friends with a guy like that?”

“Hm, I often ask myself the same question,” Ivan said, laughing when Alfred shot him a dirty look. “Now, come,” he said, pulling the blond by the sleeve of his jacket as he started to walk away. “This is silly.”

Alfred followed after him reluctantly, retrieving his car keys from his back pocket. “I need to know who this guy is.”

“And I am sure you will find out sooner or later.” 

“Yeah, well, waiting’s just not gonna cut it.” Alfred sighed, looking back worriedly over his shoulder as they left. “Not when Mattie’s involved.”

###### 

Gilbert was so close. So close that Matthew found it difficult to concentrate on anything other than the fact that Gilbert was so close to him. As he ran his fingers across the pages of his book, the palpable words brushing past his fingertips, he had to remember to breathe. Each time he did, he was met with the crisp, clean scent of the other’s cologne. He breathed deeper, then exhaled, blood rising to his cheeks.

“So, this is an L, right?” Gilbert asked, squinting at the mess of tiny dots scattered across the pages of Matthew’s book. He leaned in slightly, tapping at a spot on the page. “This one. By your pinky.” His arm was draped lazily over the back of his friend’s chair, and he pursed his lips as he tried to make sense of what he was looking at.

Matthew gulped as Gilbert’s breath tickled his neck, the sharp scent of peppermint chewing gum still lingering on his tongue. His ears tingled as the other’s voice found its way inside, just before the heavy thumping in his chest came to drown it out. He suppressed a shudder as he asked Gilbert to repeat himself, and Gilbert chided Matthew for ignoring him. It was so embarrassing to Matthew, the way his thoughts became scattered when Gilbert was near. The irony in Gilbert's words did little to relieve the knots in Matthew's stomach.

At Gilbert’s repeated question he shook his head, only just realizing how shallow his breaths had become. “No,” he said, his voice coming out a lot quieter than he’d intended. He cleared his throat softly. “That’s a V.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Gilbert pouted, “How is that a V?” He glared at the group of dots as if they’d insulted him. Looking over at the blond seated beside him, he smiled fondly. “I really don’t know how you do it, Mattie.”

He cracked a smile, shrugging modestly. “I didn’t learn it in a day.” 

"So, you're gonna teach me, right?"

"What? Braille?" He laughed softly. "So you can forget it all right after?"

Gilbert smirked, stealing the book from the other's hands. "Is that a challenge?"

"Gilbert!" Matthew shouted under his breath. "Give it back!"

"Nah," he said, grinning. He casually flipped through the pages sprinkled with text he couldn't decipher, not so much interested in the book as he was in Matthew's reaction. "I think I like yours better."

Matthew rolled his eyes, smiling despite himself. "So you can read it now?" He felt around the table for the stolen novel, hand roaming across the worn cherry wood. "Use your own."

He stiffened as he felt Gilbert's arm reach around him, abandoning his chair to rest on the table. Gilbert snickered as he placed the book between them, leaned in closer. Matthew didn't even know it was possible for him to be any closer than he had been. He felt the knots in his stomach returning, his breath leaving him. "Can't we share?" 

There was a beeping at Matthew's side, and Gilbert pulled away, glancing at his watch to check the time. Matthew sighed silently with relief, heart beating so fast it seemed weightless.

“Ten till four,” he said. “Guess our day’s about done.”

“W-Wait, it’s already that late?” That couldn’t have been right. Had they really been there for an hour? Matthew could’ve sworn they had much more time left. He groaned. “We were supposed to be studying.”

Gilbert shrugged. “And we did.”

“Barely.” He sent a pout Gilbert’s way, which Gilbert found adorable. “I told you we wouldn’t get anything done if we kept getting distracted.” His frown deepened when Gilbert laughed. “I’m serious, Gil! No more distractions. We have to stay focused next time.”

“ _Ja_ , okay,” he drawled. “But you like my distractions. Admit it.”

Matthew fought back a smile as he began stuffing his belongings in his bag. “Maybe.”

Gilbert gathered his own things, and after they’d made sure they weren’t leaving anything behind, they left for the school’s parking lot. His brother was waiting for him there, Matthew had said. The two walked rather slowly as they chatted, neither of them in a hurry to say their goodbyes. 

They came to a stop at the edge of the large lot. It was relatively empty save for a handful of cars, most students having already rushed home for the weekend. A black Honda pulled up towards the front, making its presence known, but still keeping its distance. Gilbert figured that was Alfred.

“So,” Gilbert said after a short silence, stuffing his hands in his pockets to warm them from the chilly air. “When are you coming over to my place?”

“H-Huh?” Gilbert laughed; Matthew was sure it was due to the expression on his face. He rolled his eyes, flushing slightly. He was reminded of the day they’d first met, nearly three months ago. His jokes hadn’t gotten any less corny. “Cut it out.”

“No, I’m serious,” he said, eyes softening as he watched the wind play in Matthew's hair. He seemed to be having some difficulty keeping it out of his face, tucking it behind his ears only to have it stolen by the breeze each time he did so. He looked so damn angelic, Gilbert thought, with those golden waves floating about his face and that dusting of pink across his cheeks. He stared, dumbfounded, genuinely wanting to know how it was possible for someone be that cute. He also wanted to know why this kid was making his thoughts so lame and sappy. God, he thought. That was so lame and sappy. Gilbert's face was stinging. But it was cold outside, of course it was. 

“Next weekend. My place,” he said. “We’re doing this.”

“We…” Matthew paused, his face growing hotter. “We are?”

Gilbert nodded, grinning with anticipation. “We are.”

###### 

Alfred couldn’t ignore the way he felt when his brother slipped into the car, smiling to himself. He couldn’t ignore the way he felt as he drove away, watching the perplexing German kid disappear in his rear view mirror. He definitely couldn’t ignore the way he felt as he listened to Matthew eagerly tell him of his weekend plans, the plans he’d made with this friend named Gilbert. He knew that he should’ve felt happy, especially with his brother smiling the way that he was. 

He wasn’t though. 

A loud, long honk from the car behind them put an abrupt end to his inner ramblings and he quickly stepped on the gas, not exactly sure how long he’d been sitting at a green light.

Matthew frowned as the car jerked forward. Alfred was acting weird. He had noticed that his brother seemed quieter than usual when he got in the car, but he shrugged it off, chalking it up to fatigue after a strenuous day of practice. But he knew something was definitely wrong when Alfred wasn’t paying attention to the road. “Hey,” he prodded gently, “are you feeling ok?”

Alfred laughed, more a short huff of air than anything.“Yeah,” he replied. “I’m fine, bro.” He looked over at Matthew, frowning, and heaved an inaudible sigh. “Look,” he said as he turned down the radio, “we need to talk.”

Matthew was taken aback by how serious Alfred sounded. It was so unlike him. Even that dry laugh that had just left his lips, that wasn’t Alfred either. The sound felt so harsh on his ears. Matthew hadn’t even had to spend the ride home listening to one of his brother’s silly ramblings; Alfred always had some ridiculous story to tell him. Everything just felt so wrong. What in the world was going on?

“About what?” he asked after a pause. He was beginning to feel a little anxious. Alfred only ever acted like this when something was really bothering him, and he wasn’t bothered by much.

“Gilbert.”

Matthew frowned, confused, and turned to his brother. He hadn’t the slightest clue of what Alfred would answer, but he definitely hadn’t been expecting that. “What about him?”

“Well, what do you know about him?”

Matthew was silent for a moment. Not because he wanted to be, but because he didn’t know how to respond. He knew a plenty of things about Gilbert. What kind of question was that? “Why…would you ask me something like that?” he asked, voice wary.

“Mattie,” he sighed, “I just don’t know how I feel about him.”

“What are you talking about?” He fiddled with the straps of the bag he held in his lap, perturbed. Alfred wasn’t making any sense. “We’re friends.”

There was that word again. Alfred resisted the strong urge to scoff. “Friends.” 

“Yes,” he said firmly, his anxiety melting away when he noticed the skepticism in Alfred’s tone. “I told you as much when you met him. Are you trying to say that he isn’t?”

“Look, that’s not what I’m saying, alright?” Alfred could sense that Matthew was annoyed, but so was he. He couldn’t understand why his brother was acting so naïve. He knew exactly why Alfred was bringing this up. He _knew_ that Matthew knew, and it irked Alfred that he was acting like he didn't.

“Then what _are_ you trying to say?” Matthew couldn’t believe that Alfred was talking about Gilbert in such an accusatory manner. Gilbert had been nothing but nice to him from the moment they’d exchanged their first words, so what was Alfred getting at? This all seemed to be coming out of nowhere. “Am I not allowed to have friends?” he quipped, a crease forming between his brows.

“Dude, you know that’s not-” 

“Then what is it?” he demanded.

Alfred's hands were trembling on the wheel. This was wrong. This was all wrong. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. He’d just wanted to talk, not argue. He took a slow, deep breath to calm himself. It didn’t work. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Me? Why are _you_?” he shouted, hands balled into fists at his sides. “What do you have against Gilbert? If you were feeling this way, why did you wait so long to say something? It’s been months, and _now_ you want to question who I choose to be around? He’s my friend! What more do you need to know?” 

“Ok, he’s your ‘friend,’ Matthew, but for how long?” Alfred snapped back. “How long do you think he’ll stick around? About as long as your other ones, right?”

Matthew winced as Alfred’s words sunk deep into his ears like daggers. His face fell, and he slowly unclenched his fists, sinking back into his seat. “Gilbert…h-he isn’t like that.”

Pity friends. Those were the kinds of friends Matthew made. People that talked to him, sat next to him in class, and even invited him over for dinner. Associating with Matthew made them feel good about themselves. With Matthew around they could show everyone how good of a person they were, show their teachers and parents how sweet they were for making friends with the handicapped boy.

Matthew was oblivious at the time, just happy to have his own social circle. A few months passed before they started disappearing, slowly distancing themselves until it was as if they never even existed. As if _he_ had never existed. That was when Matthew was twelve. Alfred would never forget the day they walked home from school, Matthew sniffling at his side, asking him why his friends didn't like him anymore. Just thinking about it made Alfred's blood boil. Who's to say that this Gilbert guy wasn't the same?

“You say that now, but-”

“He isn’t like that,” Matthew repeated, his voice louder, more certain. “I’m not talking about this anymore.” 

He faced the window, lips curling downwards into an indignant scowl. Gilbert was different. He was nothing like...them. Matthew could feel it. That Alfred was so dismissive of their friendship, that he the audacity to suggest that Gilbert was insincere, infuriated him. He hated being talked down to, and Matthew never thought he'd hear such condescending words come from Alfred of all people, scolding him as if he was some gullible child. He hated it. Alfred's words played over and over in his head, and Matthew squeezed his eyes shut, wishing it would stop, not wanting to believe that those words had come from his brother.

Alfred looked over at him once more, noticed how his head had slumped forward, how his hands gripped feverishly at the edge of his seat. For a moment, Alfred suddenly felt guilty for upsetting him, but the feeling passed just as quickly as it had come. Why should he feel guilty? He was only trying to protect his brother from a repeat of the past, save him from another dose of pain he knew was soon to come. Why couldn’t Matthew see that? 

“Fine,” came his bitter reply. 

It was the last word exchanged between them. The rest of the ride home was shrouded in silence, save for the soft, steady purring of the car's engine. Alfred's knuckles had gone white, angry blue veins spreading across the back of his hands. Matthew's lips twitched, tongue squirming with words that he wouldn't dare allow to escape his being. Slowly, Alfred pulled into the garage, parked where he always did. He stared forward, hands still on the wheel, mute. He heard the passenger door open, heard Matthew step out, winced as the door slammed shut. It wasn't until his brother disappeared inside that Alfred finally released the wheel, hands falling to his sides. He didn't know how long he stayed there like that, sitting in silence, staring at his red palms. Perhaps it was a few minutes, or maybe half an hour. Eventually, he pulled the keys from the ignition and trudged inside, the door shutting quietly behind him.

###### 

Dinner had never been so quiet. Their boys had never been so quiet. Sounds that were always swallowed up by evening conversation were now impossible to miss. Silverware clanked against ceramic, the grandfather clock clicked to a rhythm on the wall behind them, rivaled by the murmur of the crickets chirping outside. Arthur frowned, looking from his sons to his husband, only to find that he and Francis wore matching expressions. Neither Matthew nor Alfred had said a word to each other since sitting down, their eyes never leaving their plates. Classes were “good,” Matthew had said, and Alfred’s practice had gone “fine.” Neither of them chose to elaborate. Arthur and Francis were at a loss.

“You’ve barely touched your food, Matthieu,” Francis said, ending the lull in conversation. Matthew had been moving his food around on his plate for a while now, only lifting fork to mouth to take little more than a nibble. “Have I lost my touch?” he joked, hoping to get a smile out of him. He wasn’t so lucky. 

“It’s great, Papa. Really,” he said, raising his head as he addressed his father. “I’m just…not very hungry.”

“Are you feeling alright, dear?” Arthur asked.

Matthew nodded. “I’m fine.”

“Are _you_ feeling alright, Alfred?” His appetite was hearty as it always was (he was on his second plate), but he hadn’t spoken but a few words in the past twenty minutes. No one could shut Alfred up during dinner, and Arthur would always have to scold him for talking with his mouth full. But not tonight. His silence was unnerving. 

“Great, Pops,” he said, just barely glancing up from his food.

Again, the two parents looked at one another. The look on Arthur’s face said it all. The time to address this was now. They had never seen their sons act like this, ignore each other as if they weren’t sitting across the table from one another, as if they weren’t in the very same room. The boys had always had their fair share of squabbles and disagreements; as siblings such things were unavoidable. But Arthur knew just as well as Francis that this wasn’t just a silly case of bickering. The hostility between them hung in the air like a thick, monstrous fog, hovered overhead like an angry cloud just waiting to birth a storm. Just the sight of them behaving so coldly towards each other was more than Arthur could bear.

“What in heaven’s name is going on with you two?” he finally asked. He looked at them both, his expression a mixture of frustration and worry. Alfred swallowed. Matthew’s fork stabbed at his green beans. 

Chirping. 

Ticking. 

Silence.

“Boys,” Francis said. He’d intended to be stern, but it came out as a plea. 

Alfred was first to speak. He grimaced as he spoke, as if he was angry that his tongue had disobeyed him. “It’s nothing,” he said, taking hold of his empty glass, rattling the cubes of ice that had settled at the bottom. He then looked up from his glass and, for the first time since he’d sat down, over at Matthew. The very second he did so, he wished that he hadn’t. The anger he’d tried so hard to quell returned to the surface with a fierceness that even he couldn’t control. He felt his lips moving, felt his voice leave his throat. “Matthew’s just too good for my advice is all.”

Matthew paused, abruptly ending his assault on his meal. It was even more grating than before, the voice. The voice that Matthew had come to accept was his brother’s, bitter and biting. He squeezed the fork in his grip, the metal digging into the insides of his fingers with the action. His eyes narrowed, brows twitching together. “I never asked for your advice,” he retorted.

Alfred laughed a laugh that wasn’t his, setting his glass down with a heavy thump. “Yeah, well, maybe I was trying to look out for you, Matthew,” he spat. “Did you ever think of that?”

“Look out for me?” Matthew’s head shot up, fork dropping to his plate, face contorted in disgust. “By treating me like I’m stupid?”

“I never-”

“Yes, you did,” Matthew said, raising his voice. “Since when do _my_ friends need _your_ approval?”

Alfred jolted to his feet, chair scraping loudly against the floor as he stood. “That’s bullshit and you know it!”

“Alfred!” Arthur gasped. Whether Alfred heard him or not he didn’t know. 

“All I was trying to do was help you,” he shouted, hands splayed across the table, “but you wouldn’t listen!”

“I don’t _need_ your help, Alfred!” He flinched. Matthew’s voice shook as he spoke, fighting against the knot forming in his throat. “I never asked for it! Why do you always think you have to come to someone’s rescue? Why can’t you just mind your own business? Just…just stop it!” 

Both now stood with the table between them, silence returning. Alfred’s scowl had vanished, and he stood there, struck speechless by the tears pooling in Matthew’s eyes. He suddenly felt a hand on his arm. He looked down and winced as green met blue. He quickly looked away from those sorrowful eyes to the floor beneath his feet, ashamed.

“We’re going for a ride,” the Englishman said softly. “I’ll be in the garage.” Alfred said nothing, continuing to stare at the floor. Only when his father’s footsteps became distant did he follow after him. He didn’t look up when he left, not wanting to see the tears that he knew were on his brother’s face.

As Arthur started the car and Alfred buckled his seatbelt for the long night ahead, Matthew followed Francis out onto the back porch, where they sat side by side, crickets chirping a quiet tune as they filled the night air with heavy conversation.

###### 

It was almost midnight when Matthew heard a gentle knock on his door. His first reaction was to ask who it was, but he stopped himself short. He didn’t need ask who it was; he already knew. He slowly sat up in his bed, nibbled at his lip, his movements hesitant. “Come in,” he said. He heard the door open, footsteps, the soft click of the door closing.

Alfred stood with his back flush against the door, hands buried deep in the pockets of his sweatpants. He didn’t speak right away, convinced that once Matthew heard his voice and realized it was him, he would tell him to leave. He wanted more than anything to be proven wrong. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Matthew replied, closing the book in his hands and placing it on his nightstand. He hadn’t really been reading it, his mind wandering elsewhere each time he tried to concentrate on the text. He wondered where Alfred and his father had gone, wondered when they would get back, wondered if Alfred would still be angry at him. Even as Matthew sat across from his brother now he wondered if he looked as regretful as he felt.

“Can we talk?”

Matthew nodded, and Alfred finally left the door for the chair at Matthew’s computer desk. It was clean and tidy as it always was, textbooks off to one side, his Mac in the center, and an assortment of supplies off to the other. He found himself smiling, remembering how as children Matthew would complain about Alfred’s messiness, stumbling around their room and picking up toys with a pout on his face, grumbling about how they would get in trouble if they didn’t clean up. The smile wiped clean off his face when he turned to face his brother, whose head was bowed to the floor, hands balled in his lap. “Mattie,” he said, “I-”

“I’m sorry.”

Alfred balked, stunned by Matthew having stolen his next words. “What…what are you apologizing for?”

“For what I said…at dinner,” he said, facing Alfred now instead of the floor. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Mattie…I don’t blame you for getting mad at me, you know,” Alfred said. “What I said back in the car, at the table,” he paused, shaking his head. “I was being an asshole. And I’m really sorry. I was just…worried, you know? The last time I saw you hanging around someone so much, they…”

“I know, Al.” Matthew smiled then, and it was then that Alfred realized how much he’d missed it. “But Gilbert…I know he’s not like that. I’m not the clueless little kid I was in middle school.” He held his head high as he said this, eyes earnest. “I don’t hang around people who pity me.”

Alfred smiled, gave a firm nod. “Then I guess I have nothing to worry about.” 

Matthew shook his head. “Gilbert’s never once acted like I was some charity case. He doesn’t act weird around me, or treat me any differently or anything like that. It’s been that way since we met. No one’s ever been so nice to me…”

Alfred noticed a light flush across his brother’s face, the sight confusing him for a moment before it clicked. So, Alfred thought, expression softening, this was how things were panning out. Though tempted, he decided against pointing it out. Because maybe his brother hadn’t even figured it out yet. He was sure Matthew would tell him when he did. 

“If you feel good about him,” he said, rising to his feet and returning the swivel chair to its rightful place, “then I do too.” Matthew smiled his thanks, following the sound of Alfred’s footsteps as he headed for the door. “You coming down?” Alfred asked, glancing back over his shoulder as he reached for the doorknob. “Dad got us dessert.”

“Really?” Matthew perked up at that. After spending the last few hours cooped up in his room, he was long overdue for a midnight snack. He left his bed and threw on his slippers, following Alfred out the door. “What kind of dessert?” he asked as they reached the stairs.

Alfred grinned. “McFlurries and apple pies.”

“…McDonald’s.” Matthew deadpanned before promptly rolling his eyes. He couldn’t help smiling as the other laughed, the first real laugh he’d heard all day. It was completely and undeniably Alfred, and Matthew was glad to have his brother back. They sat together in the kitchen, enjoying each other’s company while indulging in their cheap sweets. Matthew listened contentedly to his brother’s sugar-fueled chatter, piping in occasionally when the opportunity provided itself.

“But seriously, Mattie,” Alfred said with a mouth full of apple pie, “I didn’t know what to think when I saw you standing next to this weird albino kid.”

Matthew stopped mid-slurp and pulled his straw from his mouth, blinked. “Wait,” he said, tilting his head to one side. “Gilbert has albinism?”

Alfred snorted. “You’re kidding.”

“No! I’m _blind_ , Alfred. How was I supposed to know?”

Alfred nearly choked on his milkshake from laughing so hard. 

In the room overhead lie two sleepy eavesdroppers.

“Sounds like they’ve patched things up,” Francis whispered beneath the sheets, arm curling around Arthur’s waist. “Good work today, _mon chéri_.”

Arthur smiled as he tucked himself beneath the warmth of his touch, eyelids growing heavy. “You too, frog.”


	7. Captured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert Beilschmidt is a big hypocrite.

⠠⠉⠁⠏⠞⠥⠗⠑⠙

Gilbert didn’t know what to do with himself. There was nothing on TV, Antonio wasn’t responding to his texts, and his brother was currently unavailable to pester. He’d taken out the garbage, the dishes were spotless, and he’d already cleaned his room—twice. He was running out of distractions. With a sigh, he pulled his phone from his pocket and stared at its face for what seemed like the thousandth time that day. He had less than an hour until Matthew’s arrival. He groaned as he turned off the TV, tossing the remote to his side before falling onto the couch. A low whine left his lips, the pitiful sound muffled by the decorative pillow pressed against his face. Waiting was the absolute worst. Especially when the person Gilbert was waiting for had been lingering in his mind for days.

“Lutz,” he called out, lifting his head as if it was too heavy for his shoulders. He frowned when he was answered with silence. His brother had been up there for far too long; it had been a half hour since Gilbert had last seen him and he was getting lonely. He missed having someone to harass. 

“Luuuutz!” he called out again, louder than before, making sure his voice carried upstairs. There was another short silence before a response finally followed. It wasn’t a shout, but it was clear that the younger of the two was slightly irritated. 

“Gilbert, please,” came Ludwig’s voice, echoing from down the hall. “I’m speaking on the phone.”

Gilbert pouted, lips moving as he silently mocked the other. He could already picture the look on his brother’s face, a stern crease in his brow, a frown on his lips, fingers resting at the bridge of his nose. The thought brought a satisfied smirk to his face. He flipped over onto his back and before he knew it his phone was back in his hand, red eyes squinting as the touchscreen lit up to reveal that only a minute had passed.

“God dammit,” he moaned, throwing the phone to the other end of the couch.

Gilbert couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so anxious. It was such an unawesome feeling, the way his body refused to sit still, the way he couldn’t seem to stay focused on anything, thoughts spiraling every which way. It was a strange sensation, foreign even, a little worm of a nuisance that had managed to burrow its way beneath the massive wall that was Gilbert’s ego. 

He felt ridiculous for allowing himself to get so worked up, but the more he thought about how worked up he was, the more flustered he became. Try as he might, nothing he did was enough to distract him from the fact that Matthew was on his way over. It was all Gilbert could think about. All he _had_ been thinking about for the past week. Like a sappy little schoolgirl. 

Never in his life did he ever think that he would use such words to describe himself, the impeccably handsome, undeniably charming, supremely awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt. But as things stood now, the words seemed a perfect match, and it made him feel all the more ridiculous. None of this would be happening to him if Matthew would just stop being so damned cute, ugly Christmas sweaters and seasonal socks being his most recent offenses. And that was excluding the most heinous offense of all: his face. It just had to be a crime to be that cute. No one could convince him otherwise.

The roaring of a plane passing overhead yanked Gilbert from his thoughts, and he blinked a few times, stunned by the warm tingle of blood swirling in his cheeks. He quickly sat up, face growing hotter. It was time for another distraction. He was sure a trip to the mailbox would do it. And while he was doing that, he could get the fresh air that he so desperately needed. He couldn't get out the door fast enough.

###### 

“Gilbert…what are you doing?”

At hearing his name, he looked up from the book in his hands, eyes rolling back to see his brother standing at the far end of the room, phone call apparently finished. “Reading,” he answered with a shrug, gaze shifting back to the pages hovering above his head. “What’s it look like?”

Ludwig made a face, eyeing the thick book his brother held. “That’s an IKEA catalog.” He grimaced at the way Gilbert was sprawled about the couch, legs thrown over the back as he hung upside down. He hoped Gilbert hadn’t been lying that way for too long; all of that blood rushing to his head couldn’t have been good for him.

“ _Ja_ , and?” Gilbert said, eyes scanning over one of the most ridiculous chairs he’d seen yet. He felt sorry for the poor bastards sitting at home trying to put together the damn thing. “Maybe I’m thinking about buying a new coffee table or something.”

Ludwig blinked. “…I see.”

Gilbert smirked as he peeked over the catalog once more, taking in his little brother’s appearance. “Your hair’s down.” He snickered when Ludwig averted his gaze and (rather ungracefully) sat up, repositioning himself in a way that wouldn’t make him so lightheaded.

“Yes, well,” Ludwig said, a warmth surfacing to his cheeks, “Feliciano seems to like it this way…I thought I would do it more frequently.”

Gilbert cackled, throwing his head back in his mirth. “Feli’s got you wrapped around his little finger. _Mein kleines Brüderchen_ ,” he sighed, placing a hand theatrically over his heart. "Captured by one of the Vargas twins.”

Ludwig refused to look at him, instead focusing his attention on the dim fire burning across the room. He cleared his throat, the color of his face deepening in hue. “Shut up.”

“Aww, it’s ok, Lutz,” Gilbert cooed. “Boyfriends make you wanna do sappy shit like that. S’not your fault.”

Ludwig rolled his eyes and walked over to the fireplace, taking a spare log from the hearth and placing it on the weakened fire. “You tease me, but I’m not the one who’s been acting strange all morning,” he said, prodding gently at the flames. He hadn’t planned on saying anything initially, but it was impossible not to point out his brother’s blatant hypocrisy.

Gilbert snorted. “If by ‘strange’ you mean awesome, then I guess I can’t argue with you there,” he said, grinning as he leaned against the armrest at his side. “I tend to do that a lot.”

Ludwig rolled his eyes a second time. “ _Nein, Bruder_. By ‘strange’ I mean strange.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You were just reading a furniture catalog.”

Gilbert shrugged. “So?”

“You were in here sulking, and then you started shouting insults at the TV.”

He looked off to the side, mouth twitching into a rigid smirk. He hadn’t known Ludwig had been able to hear that. “Yeah, well, there was nothing good on.”

Ludwig sighed, crossing his arms at his chest. His brother was so transparent. “I suppose pacing at the front door is perfectly normal too?”

Gilbert tensed slightly, a bark of laughter leaving his throat despite himself. “Pacing?” He scoffed. “I was just—” He faltered, scrambling internally for any sort of believable excuse. “Waiting,” he offered.

“For Matthew,” Ludwig finished for him.

“Obviously,” he said. “What’s your point?”

“My ‘point’ is that you’ve been sitting in here glued to this couch for the past two hours waiting for the doorbell to ring. If I have been ‘captured,’ then you are in the midst of joining me it seems.” Ludwig had never been the teasing type, but he would allow himself to indulge in such amusement just this once, if only to see his brother’s reaction. He was not disappointed, watching with concealed satisfaction as color spread along his brother’s ears and neck. Hypocrite indeed.

Ludwig knew that Gilbert had grown fond of his soft-spoken classmate, and Gilbert knew that Ludwig knew; it wasn’t some giant secret. At least it wasn’t anymore, not after Antonio had blabbed to Lovino, and Lovino to Feliciano, and Feliciano to Ludwig. It was mildly annoying at first, discovering his secret wasn’t so secret anymore, but he quickly got over it after learning that it wouldn’t have mattered one way or the other.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Gilbert,” Lovino had said some weeks ago as they lounged around the Beilschmidts' basement, Antonio and Gilbert munching on pizza that Lovino refused to touch. “Toni and I knew before you even said anything to him. We were just waiting for you to spill it, you predictable bastard.”

Gilbert could still remember that stupid, smug look Lovino wore, and how his face looked more and more punchable with each passing second. He could still remember how unbearably hot he felt as question after question spilled from Antonio’s mouth, as he pointed out all the little things Gilbert did when Matthew was around, things Gilbert himself wasn’t even aware of. If he could have sewn Antonio’s lips shut, he would have. And now here was his little brother, reminding Gilbert yet again of the bizarre emotions churning inside him, of his fluttering stomach, his restless limbs, and his not-so-innocent thoughts. He could feel a smirk tugging at his lips, a sharp chuckle following soon after. He knew he was already in too deep when his stick-in-the-mud, no-nonsense brother was openly taunting him.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Gilbert said, sending a knowing smile his brother’s way. “Watching me lose my mind over this kid.” 

“To an extent.” Ludwig allowed himself a small smile. “But _shaudenfreude_ is more your forte. It’s…interesting more than anything. To see you like this.”

Gilbert laughed again. “Maybe if Toni had just answered my texts, I wouldn’t be such a fucking wreck. Bastard’s probably busy getting his dick sucked.”

“Gilbert!”

“What?” Gilbert gave an innocent shrug. “It’s happened before. You’d probably ignore me too if you had Feli in your lap.” He snickered when Ludwig's mouth fell open. “Am I wrong?”

Gilbert quickly found himself alone again, roaring with laughter as Ludwig left the room muttering about his “filthy mouth.” He sunk back into a little corner of the couch, hand on his stomach as he caught his breath and wiped tears from his eyes. Just as he made to grab his neglected phone from the place he’d chucked it, Aster came padding into the room. The dog plopped herself at Gilbert’s feet, still a bit disoriented from her nap.

“Well, look who’s finally up. Sleep well, girl? ” he asked, reaching down to give the golden retriever an affectionate ear-scratching. She lapped at Gilbert's fingers, her way of letting her owner know that she was indeed well rested. “So,” he sighed, stroking her soft, shiny coat, “think you can keep me company till Mattie gets here?” Aster rested her head in Gilbert’s lap, and Gilbert gently pet her head, absentminded, wondering what else he could do to waste time. The retriever yawned and Gilbert looked down at her, eyes widening as mental gears finally clicked into place. His next distraction was (quite literally) sitting right under his nose. With a triumphant grin on his face, he sprung from the couch, whistling for Aster to follow.

Ludwig left the kitchen to see just what it was that had his beloved dog so excited; even in the next room over he could hear her tail wagging, thumping rhythmically against the floor. He found Gilbert at the front door, securing a leash around Aster’s collar.

“Gilbert, what are you doing?” He was just as confused as he was the first time he’d uttered those words.

“Taking a walk with Aster,” he replied. “She can do her business, and I can keep my sanity.”

Ludwig frowned as the other opened the door. “But it’s almost one o’clock.” 

Gilbert looked back over his shoulder as he followed Aster outside, the cold air stinging his cheeks. “You think I’d invite Mattie over here just to stand him up? I’ll be back in fifteen.”

“But—”

“Twenty tops!” Gilbert called back. He made to close the door behind himself but stopped suddenly, turning to face his brother. He smirked. “And nice try, but you’re wrong.”

Ludwig frowned. “What?”

“I can’t be captured when _I’m_ the one doing the capturing.”

And with that Gilbert hastily closed the door, proclamation lingering in the air.

###### 

Matthew didn’t know what he was waiting for. The door was right in front of him, his finger was on the doorbell, and yet he was still standing there like an idiot. The air was cold and dry, and Matthew buried his face into the thick scarf at his neck, grateful for the extra layers his worrywart of a father had forced him to wear. Alfred had dropped him off not even a minute ago, driving off with a gentle honk once Matthew had safely made it to his friend’s doorstep—the doorstep he shouldn’t have been on anymore. This was silly. _He_ was being silly. It was only homework, Matthew reminded himself, nodding with assurance. Only homework. He played the words over and over in his head, a personal mantra of sorts, and felt himself relax a bit. Only homework.

With Gilbert.

Matthew’s hand dropped quickly to his side, his head lowering bashfully to the ground as if the door could see his reddening cheeks. He shook his head, nibbling gently at his lip. How was he supposed to act normally when merely _thinking_ about Gilbert made him red in the face? How _could_ he act normally when hearing his voice made his chest feel light, made his head feel like it was swimming? He gulped, chilled fingers curling around his cane. He needed to keep calm. There was no good that would come from psyching himself out, that much he was sure of. He could do this. It was only homework. Slowly, he exhaled, his breath visibly spilling from his mouth, and nodded with finality. The bell echoed in his ears long after the ringing had stopped, the sound reminding him that he had only seconds until he was face-to-face with the boy who had reduced him to nothing short of a nervous wreck. He gripped his cane tighter as the door clicked open.

“Mattie, you’re here!”

Matthew frowned at the greeting, not because he didn’t appreciate it, but because of who had said it. A voice that sweet and bubbly could only belong to one person. His tongue didn’t move as fast as he’d wanted it to, his body still recovering from shock. It was strange to hear his voice outside of school. “F...Feli?”

Feliciano giggled at how baffled Matthew looked. “You were expecting Gilbert, huh?” He was answered with a slow nod. “Don’t worry, he stepped out for a bit, but he’s on his way back now. Come in, come in!” he chirped, grabbing Matthew’s hand. “It’s freezing out there!”

Matthew smiled and thanked him, allowing himself to be pulled inside by the smaller boy. He shuddered as he was wrapped in a blanket of warmth, the heat feeling incredible on his face and body. Feliciano closed the door behind him and sighed graciously as the chilly air was sent back from where it came. “Oh, let me take your coat,” he said, tugging gently at his friend’s sleeve. “And your bag, too. I’ll put it right here by the door.” 

“Oh, right. Thanks,” he replied, quickly stripping down to his clothes before handing off his belongings, save his cane. He was only just beginning to realize how weird he felt, being in an unfamiliar house, completely unaware of where everything was. Feliciano encouraged him to leave his shoes by the door and Matthew did so, enjoying the plush feel of the carpeted floor beneath his feet. He listened to Feliciano sing a song he didn’t recognize as he put away his things, and found himself smiling. The closest Lovino had ever gotten to singing was, well, screaming. The Vargas twins were definitely a unique pair.

“There we are,” Feliciano said as he shut the closet door. “Come with me to the kitchen,” he said, taking Matthew’s hand again. “We can have some cider while we wait for Gilbert to get back. It’s really good, I know you'll love it.”

“Sounds good,” Matthew said, chuckling as Feliciano pulled him along like a child might a parent. This was how Feliciano had come to usher him around, a mutual agreement between the two. There was a short period after they’d first met where Feliciano would eagerly take his hand, realize his mistake, apologize, and then offer his arm. This went on for some time before Matthew realized that it was a harmless habit that the boy would probably never break, and so he let him know that it was alright, that he really didn’t mind either way. After all, it wasn’t like Feliciano was some stranger on the street. Alfred used to do the same thing when they were younger; it was kind of nostalgic.

“Are you studying with me and Gil?” Matthew asked. He still didn’t know why Feliciano had been there to greet him at the door. Although they weren’t in the same class, he knew that Feliciano was reading the same novel as they were; he had complained about how confusing it was a few weeks back as they ate lunch together. Gilbert had agreed, and Matthew spent a full five minutes trying (and failing) to make things clearer for them before Lovino demanded they talk about something that “wasn’t so fucking boring.” 

“Oh, no,” he laughed sheepishly, shaking his head. “I actually haven’t been reading like I should. Luddy and I are about to go to a movie.”

“Oh, Ludwig is here too?” 

Feliciano hummed the affirmative and beamed as his eyes fell on his boyfriend, who’d turned around as he heard them walk in. “Mattie’s here!” he announced, raising Matthew’s arm as if he’d just won the WWE championship. “He beat Gil just like you said.”

Ludwig sighed softly and turned off the stovetop, shaking his head as he took in Matthew’s presence—and his brother’s continued absence. “I was hoping I’d be proven wrong. _Hallo_ , Matthew,” he said, sending an apologetic smile the boy’s way. 

“Hey, Ludwig.”

“Please, make yourself comfortable. Gilbert should be back soon enough,” he said, not able to control the way his eyebrow twitched as his brother’s name left his mouth. “I apologize for his absence. He’s...walking the dog.”

“It’s alright.” Matthew smiled as he followed Feliciano to the table at the far end of the room. “I know he isn’t the most punctual person,” he laughed. Gilbert had caused the both of them to be late to class multiple times—not that they’d ever been reprimanded for it; a white cane did wonders for avoiding tardy slips.

“He’s never been,” Ludwig sighed again. He reached into the cabinets above the sink and pulled out three mugs, filling them one by one with the cider he’d just prepared. “But I just don’t understand how his guest has made it to his home before he has. It’s unbelievably rude.”

“It’s ok, really,” Matthew insisted, thanking Ludwig as he placed his drink on the table in front of him. With cautious hands he took hold of the glass and brought it to his lips, blowing at the rising steam. “I’ll get back at him somehow,” he said, smiling to himself. Having Gilbert do his homework for him sounded like a pretty fair deal. “Besides, he owes me for all the detentions I’ve saved him from.”

Ludwig shook his head while Feliciano snickered behind his hand. His brother was hopeless. “You’ll hear no objections from me.”

“So,” Feliciano peeped at Matthew’s side in that sing-songy voice of his, “is this your first study date?”

Ludwig visibly tensed and had Matthew not been the incredibly polite house guest that he was, the contents of his mug would have surely sprayed from his mouth. He struggled to keep himself from choking, forcing the crisp, tangy liquid down his in throat one large gulp. “W-What?” he sputtered out, blue eyes wide.

“I guess it is, huh?” he giggled.

“N-no! No, it’s not,” he said, grimacing at the dreadfully familiar sensation of soon-to-be-rosy cheeks.

Feliciano looked surprised. “This isn’t your first time at Gilbert’s?”

“No, it is, but i-it’s not...” Matthew's voice fell to just above a whisper, “a _date_.”

He smiled in a way that wasn’t completely innocent. “It’s not?”

“Of course not,” Matthew said quite hurriedly, mumbling his words into his mug. What a ridiculous notion, he thought, face burning hot as pavement in mid-July. He and Gilbert did this all the time. It just so happened that this time, they’d be doing it at Gilbert’s house. It wasn’t like it would be any different. Not at all. Matthew had already convinced himself of this before he walked through the door, and he was sticking to it. Only. Homework. He took another sip of cider to alleviate the dryness of his mouth, the steaming drink only worsening how hot he suddenly felt.

Feliciano hummed, a sly smirk on his lips. That definitely wasn’t what Gilbert had been saying. “If you say so.” 

Ludwig cleared his throat quite loudly from behind the counter and sent a stern look his boyfriend’s way. Feliciano stuck out his tongue in rebellion, and Ludwig sighed. “Feli."

"Yes?" he answered, sweet as molasses.

"Go and see if the car has warmed up.”

He frowned, cheeks puffing out as he pouted. “But it’s cold,” he whined. “Can you do it?”

Those bright, doey eyes might have gotten him off the hook most days, but this day was not one of them. Not after he’d just pulled a stunt like that. Ludwig resumed wiping down the counter, unbothered. “ _Nein_.”

“Pleease?”

“Do you want us to be late for the movie?”

“Alright, alright. I’m going,” he conceded, pulling himself reluctantly from his chair. He quickly grabbed a jacket and slipped out the door, smiling to himself. Sure, he probably shouldn't have teased Matthew like that, but it was only fair; he had done the same thing to Gilbert. It was just too much fun to mess with two friends who were so obviously on the verge of becoming so much more than that. When exactly the ball would drop Feliciano didn’t know, but he hoped it was sooner rather than later. Now it was just a waiting game.

###### 

Matthew’s shoes were the first thing Gilbert saw as he walked through the front door, heart racing so fast he feared it might explode from his chest. “Shit,” he panted, closing the door as Aster followed him inside, the dog breathing just as hard. He ripped himself out of his coat and chucked it in the closet, kicking off his shoes with a quickness he hadn’t known he was capable of. He was already ten minutes late, and he’d be damned if he kept Matthew waiting any longer. 

He followed the murmur of conversation into the living room, where he found Ludwig, Feliciano, and the boy who had him out of breath. He was standing near the fireplace, hands outstretched towards the dancing flames. “Matthew,” he breathed, gulping when Matthew turned around and smiled at him.

“Gi—” Matthew was abruptly silenced when he collided with a barking wall of fur, everyone gasping collectively as he fell to the floor. 

“Aster!” Ludwig shouted, horrified at the sight of his well-trained dog behaving so wildly. Gilbert was first to rush over, Ludwig and Feliciano right on his heels. But then all three of them stopped suddenly, freezing in place when Matthew’s laughter filled the room.

Matthew could just barely remember the last time he’d been so close to a dog. He couldn’t have been more than five. His parents had allowed he and Alfred to pet a neighbor’s puppy one morning on the way to school, and he remembered how cold and wet its nose had felt against his hand, and how soft its fur was between his tiny fingers. And now here he was, finding out what it felt like to be covered in dog kisses. He lie trapped on his back at the mercy of his four-legged assailant, giggling as the dog lapped at his cheeks.

“Aww,” Feliciano gushed. “She really likes you, Mattie.”

“Fuck,” Gilbert mumbled under his breath, unable to withstand the intensity of cute he was currently witnessing. Matthew hadn’t even said two words to him, but he could already feel his brain turning to mush. Fantastic.

Ludwig sighed with relief, glad to see that Matthew was unharmed. Still, he was sure the boy had had more than enough dog saliva for the day, and whistled sharply to catch Aster’s attention. “ _Platz,_ ” he said, the command rolling sternly off his tongue. The retriever complied and backed away, sitting herself obediently at Ludwig’s feet. Matthew couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed by the dog’s disappearance, but he was grateful that he could move freely again. He slowly sat up, smiling when Gilbert’s voice reached his ears. 

“Are you alright?” Gilbert asked, hurrying over to him. “Aster knows not to jump on people like that. I have no idea what’s gotten into her.”

“I’m fine,” he laughed, a hand wiping at his face. “She’s really sweet.”

“Here.” Gilbert held out a hand. “Let me help you up.” Matthew nodded and held out his own, Gilbert grabbing hold and pulling him to his feet. 

“You’re late,” Matthew said, a wry smile on his lips.

“Y-Yeah, my bad.” Gilbert grinned sheepishly. “There was some construction so I had to take the long way back, and I tried running back here as fast as I could, but there was so much damn traffic and— ” He was interrupted as Matthew laughed.

“So, you ran here. I was wondering why you sounded so out of breath.”

“Well, yeah, I didn’t wanna keep you waiting.” He blushed, looking off to the side. “You know, ‘cause I knew you were probably going crazy without my awesome presence.”

Matthew rolled his eyes. “How did you know?”

“Eh, you know, tends to happen when people are away from my greatness for too long.” Gilbert smiled as Matthew laughed again, pride bubbling in his chest at the fact that _he_ had been the cause of such an adorable noise. His laugh wasn’t the only thing that was adorable though. “Your hair’s a mess.”

Matthew flushed, smoothing his hands over his hair. “Yeah, well, it was fine before your dog tackled me to the floor.” 

Gilbert smirked. “I said it was a mess. I didn’t say it wasn’t cute.”

“Knots and tangles aren’t cute,” Matthew pouted, an expression that only reiterated Gilbert’s sentiments. He could only go by what felt right, patting down the fly aways and making sure his hair wasn’t in his face. That felt about right. Sort of.

“Want a little help?” he offered, an attempt to make amends for laughing at the boy’s current state.

“No.” Matthew pursed his lips, pushing some strands bashfully behind his ear. “...Yes.”

“Thought so.”

“Shut up.”

Even though Matthew knew what was coming next, he still couldn’t control the way his stomach fluttered as Gilbert inched nearer, nor the way his breath hitched in his throat as Gilbert’s hand came to rest atop his head. He’d half expected Gilbert to muss it up even more, but Gilbert hadn’t had such intentions. His movements were slow and gentle, and Matthew held back a shiver as his fingers ghosted over his scalp, coaxing the rebellious curls into place.

It was even softer than Gilbert had imagined it would be. Like silken honey beneath his fingertips. His eyes followed the slight waves of his bangs, settled on one stubborn curl that refused to be tamed, on the delicate tendrils framing that frustratingly cute face of his. The last thing he wanted to do was stop, and Matthew wouldn’t have minded if his touch had lingered a little longer, but it was over just as soon as it had started, Gilbert’s hand falling reluctantly back to his side.

“Thanks...” Matthew said softly.

“Yeah...no problem.”

“Have fun, you two!” Feliciano called from down the hall, startling the both of them. Neither of them had noticed the others leave the room.

“Feli,” he heard his brother groan, followed by snickering and the door shutting closed.

Gilbert turned back around at hearing the door lock, clearing his throat. “You hungry?”

“Yeah, a little. I kinda skipped lunch.” Matthew admitted, smiling sheepishly. “I was really into this book and I...forgot.” 

“You skipped out on lunch to read that shitty thing?”

He frowned when Gilbert laughed, folding his arms at his chest. “It was getting really good, okay?”

“You’re such a nerd, do you know that?”

“A nerd who got you a B on the last English test.” 

Gilbert hadn’t been ready for such a skillfully crafted comeback, and he stood with his mouth slightly ajar, stubbornly shutting it when he realized he had nothing to counter with. 

Matthew smirked indulgently, amused by the other’s silence. “A B _plus_ if you wanna get technical.”

There was something about that deliciously smug smile of his that made Gilbert want to wipe it right off his face. With his lips. “Since when did you get to be such a smart-mouthed little shit?”

“Since I started hanging around one.”

Gilbert made a rather unique noise, something between a cackle and a snort, and the sound alone had Matthew near tears.

“Get over here, _nerd_.” Matthew gasped softly as Gilbert took his hand, pulling him closer and bringing Matthew’s arm around his own. “We’re going to my room.”

“A-Alright.” Matthew brought his other hand to rest at Gilbert’s forearm, ignoring the strong and sudden urge to bury his face in his sweater. _God_ , Matthew thought, why did Gilbert have to smell so nice? Why couldn’t he smell like something that didn’t make his eyes want to roll into the back of his head?

“Woah there, Mattie.” 

“H-Huh?” This was it, he was done for. He’d made a face, inhaled too loudly, done _something_ that had given him away, and now Gilbert thought he was a total freak. 

Gilbert smirked, looking down at the hand at his arm. “You’re gonna need a permit to handle guns like these.” 

“...Oh my God.” 

Gilbert couldn’t have been more pleased at the way Matthew’s palm came to cover his face, his head bowing to the floor. “Tell me how awesome that was.”

“Just walk, Gilbert.” His voice was muffled behind his hand as he shook his head, lips quivering.

“You know you wanna laugh.” 

“ _Walk_.”

Gilbert made sure to point out where the bathrooms were as they passed them, helping Matthew familiarize himself with the layout of his house. He also made sure to snag the takeout menu hanging from the fridge as they cut through the kitchen; they had decided on pizza for later. To hold themselves until then, Gilbert grabbed a few snacks, sodas, and other highly-processed junk before they headed upstairs to his room, which didn’t stay clean for long. 

Gilbert glared at all the notebooks and worksheets and assorted supplies scattered about his floor before returning his attention to contents of his backpack. “Where the hell is this book?” he grumbled, digging around while he squinted inside. 

“You'd know where it was if you had actually been reading it." Matthew smiled from his spot at the foot of Gilbert’s bed, flipping through his book for the page he had left off on. "Ow!” He winced and rubbed his forehead, picking up the little piece of rubber that had landed in his lap. "Did you...did you just throw an eraser at me?"

“Me?" Gilbert smirked, unzipping the little pockets at the front of his backpack. "C'mon, Mattie, I thought we were friends."

"Some friend you are," Matthew said, smiling to himself as he resumed flipping through his book. "You'd better be glad that your bed is so comfortable."

"Saved by the bed.” Gilbert grinned as he finally came across what he was looking for. He grabbed the battered copy of _1984_ from his bag, worn from weeks of prolonged neglect and abuse, and began stuffing the rest of his things back inside.

Matthew couldn’t help snickering as he listened to the other’s hasty movements, zippers closing, papers crumpling as he crammed them into his bag. “I really didn’t think you’d be so eager to do this, Gil.” 

Gilbert scoffed. “I’m not,” he said, tossing his backpack into his closet. “But I have a limited amount of time with you and I’m not gonna let George fucking Orwell take it all up.” He paused just as the last word left his mouth, his ears turning red as he realized he had spoken his thoughts aloud. 

It was true though, thought Gilbert. The dead guy was the very definition of a third wheel, and the sooner they got through his stupid book, the better. His hand lingered on the doorknob. He hadn’t closed his closet yet, and he toyed with the idea of shutting himself inside. Fortunately for Gilbert, his more rational thoughts came to drown out the rest, and he slowly closed the door, turning around to find a shy smile on his friend’s lips. Just the sight of Matthew’s face, as flushed as he was sure his own was, made any and all uncertainty he’d been feeling vanish. 

“Well,” Matthew replied, pushing a few strands of hair behind his ear, “let’s get to it then.”

“Yeah.”

Matthew’s face grew warmer as he felt the bed dip under Gilbert’s weight. "Could you hand me one of your pillows?"

"Oh, uh, yeah." Gilbert reached behind himself and grabbed one of the two propped against the headboard, placing it in Matthew's lap. "You can have both if you want, you know."

Matthew simply shook his head. "This one's perfect." He took a few moments to fluff it between his hands and then promptly swung it straight into Gilbert's face. He enjoyed himself a laugh at the sounds of Gilbert groaning. "We're still friends, aren't we?"

The expression of exaggerated innocence on Matthew's face didn't last long at all, morphing into an impish grin that had Gilbert reaching for pillow number two. Matthew gasped as the bed began to shake with Gilbert's movements. "You sneaky little—”

"Ah! No, wait!" he cried and jerked backwards, taking refuge against the wall. 

"Don't start things you can't finish, Matthew," said Gilbert, bringing his pillow down on Matthew's head. Matthew burst into laughter, bringing his pillow to shield his face. But Gilbert was quick to react, overcome with a wicked glee as he pummeled Matthew's shoulder, his stomach, his hip—anywhere he deemed worthy of his revenge. "You give up?" Gilbert asked, laughing just as hard as he was swinging. "Gilbert Beilschmidt is awesome! Say it and I'll stop!" 

"No!"

"You sure about that?"

But little did Gilbert know, Matthew was buying himself time. He could hear Gilbert beginning to pant, and knew that it was now he who had the upper hand. And so he made his move. Gilbert jumped back as Matthew lunged at him, his pillow falling to the floor in his surprise. With his back against his headboard he had nowhere else to go, and he grimaced as he got another blow to his face. Matthew swung wildly, not caring what it was he was hitting as long as it was attached to the boy in front of him. 

"Gilbert Beilschmidt is a huge _dork_!" he shouted. "How's that?"

It all came to a swift end when Gilbert lunged back at Matthew, so quickly that Matthew hadn't even the slightest moment to react. Matthew's pillow joined Gilbert's on the floor as he landed on his back, laughing so hard he managed to snort. He clasped a hand to his mouth in an attempt to reel himself back at in, but then Gilbert gasped out that he couldn't breathe and Matthew lost it again. 

Slowly, they came down from their shared high, their laughter replaced by soft pants. Only when silence filled the room did the two become aware of their bodies. Matthew could feel himself sinking into the bed. Could feel the indents of Gilbert's hands at either side of his head, the little dips of Gilbert's knees at his hips, pressing into the mattress. The hairs covering his forehead moved in time with Gilbert's shallow breaths, tickling his skin. And he realized that he couldn't move. But what shocked him most was the realization that he didn't necessarily _want_ to. What was _wrong_ with him? If his heart thumped any louder he was sure he might go deaf.

Gilbert looked at his hands, almost as if he'd forgotten that they were his. Matthew's hair was fanned out across his bed in waves, looking every bit as soft as the sheets beneath them. And it was like being stolen by the ocean's tide. He couldn't escape it. He was being sucked in, losing himself in Matthew's everything. In the way his cheeks had reddened. In the way his chest rose and fell. In the bow of his parted lips and the distinct color of his eyes. And then he realized that Matthew was no longer in front of him, or beside him, but _beneath_ him. Breath catching, he quickly pulled himself back to give Matthew space, thinking that maybe he should've locked himself inside his closet after all. 

Matthew sat himself up and tried not to think about how red his face was, because there was no doubt in his mind that it was. From all the laughing, obviously. "Truce?"

Gilbert smirked, picking up his pillows from the floor along with their books. "Only if you admit that there are _two_ dorks in this room," he answered.

"It's true," he said. He smiled as Gilbert placed his novel in his hands. "You're contagious."

"Who says I didn't get it from you?" 

Matthew scoffed. "'What's your sign?'" he quoted, chuckling at the memory. "That was you, not me."

"Yeah." Gilbert stretched himself across the bed and plopped a pillow on Matthew's lap. "And you started a pillow fight, so I'd say we're about even."

Matthew fought against a smile as Gilbert's head settled into his lap. "Touché."

"So what are we looking for again?" asked Gilbert. He scanned over the text in his book, reminded of why he'd left it untouched in his backpack for as long as he had. "Something about 'realized emotions?'"

"That's right. We just need an example in the novel that demonstrates that theme." Matthew pursed his lips while he went through more pages. "I'm trying to find the part where Winston meets Julia in the countryside, and they, you know..."

“When they fuck?" Gilbert felt Matthew tense a little and snickered. "Isn't that in Book Two?" he asked, more to himself than Matthew. It didn't take long to discover that he was indeed right. “Yeah, it's right here, on page 462.”

“Geez, Gilbert.” Matthew spread his fingers across said page, face reddening when he found that his friend wasn't joking. “Why is _this_ the only thing you remember so well?”

He shrugged, grinning lopsidedly. “It’s the only thing that wasn’t completely boring.”

“Uh-huh.”

Gilbert snickered again and peeped up from his book for a glimpse of the other’s rosy cheeks. They were a far better sight than what lie between the covers of this book, that Gilbert knew for sure. His eyes softened as they fell on Matthew's sweater, riddled with a mixture of snowflakes and reindeer and the jolliest of gingerbread men. 

“God, Matthew.”

“What?”

“That sweater is hideous.”

Matthew smiled, puffing out his chest. “Isn’t it? I told Alfred to show me to the ugliest ones he could find, and then I bought the ugliest of them all.” He laughed as a thought came to him. “My papa begged me to let him return it.”

"Hmm." Gilbert turned his head slightly to look down at Matthew's covered feet. “Your socks aren’t too bad.” He laughed at the way Matthew deflated, a pout coming to his face. 

“I couldn’t find my others.” He wiggled his toes through his socks, one red and the other green. “Papa probably stole them from the wash,” he mumbled.

Gilbert shrugged. “I don’t blame him. I mean, Rudolph socks that glow in the dark? Those were the worst."

“There’s nothing wrong with being festive,” he insisted, sticking up his nose. “Now, stop distracting us!”

“ _Ja_ , okay,” Gilbert laughed. “For real this time.” 

“Wanna read the first paragraph?”

“On it.”

###### 

“What did you do to my dog?”

Gilbert frowned and plopped himself on the floor next to Matthew, sending a glare at the retriever in Matthew’s lap. He watched with unbridled envy as Aster melted under Matthew’s touch, tongue hanging slack from her mouth. She buried her nose in the crook of Matthew’s neck and Gilbert narrowed his eyes at the canine, convinced she had done it to spite him. First that Orwell bastard and now his own dog; he just couldn’t catch a break.

Matthew flashed him a smile, running his hands along Aster’s back. “Jealous? That she likes me more than you?” Gilbert flushed and tore his eyes away from the unsightly couple, relegating himself to the TV. Like hell she liked him more than he did, Gilbert thought, lips set in a stubborn pout. The impeccably handsome, undeniably charming, supremely awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt was jealous. Of a dog. He really was losing it.

“Whatever,” he scoffed. “Take this soda before I drink it myself.”

“Thanks.” He smirked as Gilbert placed the can in his hand. “I’ll savor it.” Aster whimpered at the loss of Matthew’s touch and the boy laughed and apologized, patting her head before she left his lap to curl up in front of the fireplace.

A loud pop filled the room, and then a sharp gasp. Gilbert’s eyes grew wide when they fell on Matthew. He was frozen, his mouth agape, brown foam running down his hand and onto his clothes. He sat there drenched in soda, a shiver spiking through his body as he felt the sweet, sticky liquid soak through his jeans.

“Shit.” The single expletive wasn’t nearly enough to communicate Gilbert’s shock. “Shit, shit, shit,” he continued, scrambling over to the stunned boy from where he sat. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, Mattie.”

Gilbert took the fizzing can of cola from his hand and Matthew smirked, wiping his palms on his now soiled sweater. “I didn’t think you were _that _jealous.”__

“I _swear_ I didn’t know it would do that.” He set the drink on the coffee table and shook his hands dry.

“I’m only kidding, Gil. Do we have any napkins left?”

“Napkins, napkins…” His eyes darted wildly about the table, spotting a decent pile of napkins beneath the empty pizza boxes. “Got ‘em.” He quickly handed them off to Matthew, nodding as he expressed his gratitude. He began wiping at his clothes and once he was finished, he faced Gilbert, tilting his head in question.

“How did I do?”

“Uh…you kinda missed a bit to your left.”

"Here?"

"Little more to the right."

"Like this?"

All Gilbert could manage was an awkward laugh. “I’ll be right back. Stay here.”

Matthew made to protest, but Gilbert had already left the room before he could utter the first word. He leaned back against the couch and sat in bewildered silence, yelping when a bundle of something soft hit his face, falling into his lap.

“What is this?” he asked, taking the bundle into his hands.

“My clothes. Wear ‘em.”

“W-What?”

“They’re clean,” he chuckled. “If that’s what you’re wondering.”

"No, I…” His eyes shifted downwards and then back up again. “Gilbert, it’s fine, really I—”

“You really think I’m gonna let you sit here covered in soda?” He crossed his arms definitively at his chest. “I’ll give you my clothes, you’ll give me yours to throw in the wash, and you won’t have to spend the next hour smelling like root beer. Deal?”

Judging from the way Gilbert’s voice sounded, Matthew figured he didn’t really have a choice. “Alright. I’ll...be back in a minute I guess.”

Gilbert didn’t say much when Matthew came out of the bathroom, and for that Matthew was grateful. He was sure his face would spontaneously combust if it got any hotter than it already was. Gilbert called him over to where he lie in front of the fireplace, and Matthew sat down next to him, bringing his knees to his chest. He could hear Aster's soft breaths from her little spot in front of the fire and smiled to himself. His eyes fluttered shut as he breathed in the scent of the boy next to him. It was everywhere, it was _on_ him and his head was reeling. That a mere T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants could make him feel like this was embarrassing to say the least, but Matthew couldn't help himself. And he didn't really know if he cared to.

Gilbert watched him silently in the light of the fire, captivated by the way the light caught his hair, and the way his face gleamed as the flames danced within their hearth, bathing his whole body in a warm orange glow. His voice was so soft when he spoke that he had trouble believing it was his own. “You look so—” His breath caught in his throat as his mind caught up with his mouth, and his eyes widened as Matthew turned to face him.

“Hm?”

He gulped, suddenly aware of how fast his heart was racing. “You...You’re really pale.” A hand came to pull at his hair as he fell flat on his back, mouthing the words “fuck” and “me” as he brought his other hand to cover his face.

Matthew scoffed. “Says the albino.” 

Gilbert froze, slowly sliding his hand down his face to look at Matthew, who was smirking at him. “How did you know that?”

“What?”

“About my albinism.”

"Oh." Matthew gave a sheepish laugh. "Alfred told me."

Gilbert didn't respond right away, and the two sat in momentary quiet. But it wasn't the usual lull in conversation. It was a bit longer than that. And suddenly Matthew's heart dropped, thinking that maybe his little retort had offended Gilbert in some way. He rushed to apologize, but before he could get the words out Gilbert broke the silence with that ever impressive laugh of his. Its suddenness made Matthew jump.

“What? What’s funny?” Matthew only grew more uncomfortable as Gilbert’s laughter continued. While on the one hand he was relieved that what he'd said hadn't come off as insensitive, on the other, he was completely lost. Whatever it was that was so hilarious, Matthew wanted to know too, especially since he'd just given himself something short of a heart attack. "Gilbert!" he huffed, desperate to understand what he'd done to make himself so unintentionally amusing.

“All this time you've been wondering what I looked like, huh?" Gilbert sat up, a smug smirk on his face.

"W-What?" Matthew sputtered and hugged his knees tighter to his chest. "No, I haven't!" 

"So desperate to know that you asked your brother to describe my every feature."

“No, I didn’t!" he insisted. "It just...came up in conversation!” Gilbert had settled himself in front of Matthew, his back to the fireplace.

"Here, let me help you out," he said, voice like suede. "People tell me I have a charming smile, dashing good looks, and—"

"Ugh," Matthew moaned, splaying his fingers across his face. “ _Please_ don't.”

"And eyes that shine like the purest rubie—"

“Shut up already!” Gilbert laughed some more as he was shoved to the floor, and Matthew had to stifle his own laughter. "God, I hate you," he mumbled, the words about as menacing as a three-day-old kitten. 

"Liar," said Gilbert, finding his proof in the little grin on his friend's face. He heaved a contented sigh and got himself comfortable again, hands laced behind his head as he glanced up at the ceiling. "You know, it's not like I've been trying to hide it or anything."

"Hm? Hide what?"

"The way I look." He rolled over on his side to look at the other and felt himself blush. "I don't want you to think that I was." he said, picking at the carpet. "It's just that you never asked, so I never bothered." 

Matthew brought his chin to rest on his knees. "If I had asked," he said softly, "would you have minded?"

Gilbert frowned. "Of course not. Why would I have?"

"I dunno," said Matthew, toes wiggling in his socks. "It's kind of a personal question."

"Maybe if we were strangers in some online chat room," he snorted. Matthew stayed silent, pressing his lips together, and Gilbert's smirk was replaced by a more sober expression. "Mattie?"

"Eyes that shine like rubies, huh?" he said, finally giving in to his own curiosity. Matthew laughed softly and Gilbert blushed. How could words that sounded so ironically funny on his own tongue sound so unironically lame when repeated back to him? God dammit, he really was a dork. 

"Yeah, well," Gilbert cleared his throat, rubbing at his neck. "Turns out they were supposed to be blue, like Lud’s. But, you know, with albinism there’s no pigment. The only color that comes through is from the blood vessels in my eyes, so they show up red. At least that’s what the doc told my folks.” He hunched his shoulders, stopping himself before he began to ramble. "I never really cared much about the details. It’s pretty boring stuff."

"Says who?" Matthew stretched himself out alongside Gilbert, clasping his hands on his stomach. "I don't think so."

Gilbert shrugged again, watching Matthew's hair spill onto the carpet as he lie down. He had to keep himself from touching it. "Guess when you look at them in the mirror everyday it kinda loses the wow factor." Matthew turned his head in Gilbert's direction, and Gilbert's eyes locked onto Matthew's like magnets. Matthew smiled.

"But I thought Gilbert Beilschmidt was awesome." Gilbert didn't know how to feel about the little smile on the boy's lips. It was coy. It was playful. And it was making his blood rush. "You can't be awesome and boring at the same time, can you?"

It took a moment longer than Gilbert would have liked to think of a comeback, those teasing lips making his mind go blank. But he recovered, his tone artificially cool. "Glad to see you finally came to your senses."

Matthew sighed, bringing the back of his hand to his forehead. "It must be the heat. It's getting to me."

"Cute."

"I try."

Gilbert had to look back up at the ceiling, otherwise Matthew's face would be the death of him. He sighed softly into his bangs. "So..."

"Mmhm?"

"I don't really know how I should describe myself to you without sounding like a mail-order bride."

Matthew laughed, making his next words rather dubious. "I promise I won't laugh if you do."

"You planned this all along, didn't you?"

"I didn't, but I can't say I don't like where it's going." He grinned. "Just keep it simple."

"Yeah, okay. Simple." Gilbert looked away, running a hand through his hair. "I think we've already established that I'm pretty damn white. Other than that, I'm blond. Short hair. Tall." 

He laughed, not having expected to feel this awkward. Never would he have thought that something as simple as describing his own appearance could feel so intimate an act. And maybe it wouldn’t have been had Matthew not been the one listening. "Now that I'm saying it out loud, that could be anybody, really."

"But it's not anyone else," Matthew said, his voice soft as color rose to his cheeks. "It's you. I don’t need a bunch of flowery words to know that.”

Gilbert brought his eyes back to Matthew and could feel his chest begin to ache. Like it had when Matthew waved to him last Friday from the passenger seat of Alfred's car. This week had seemed to crawl like no other, slow and deliberate, like it had known he'd made plans this weekend, and was jealous of the company he'd be spending it with. But somehow Gilbert had made it through, and now Matthew was here. Laughing with him and smiling at him and making him wish there were more hours in a day. Matthew was here, lying with him on his living room floor, and he hated knowing that sooner or later, this spot next to him would be empty again.

"So," Gilbert said, so fixated on Matthew's profile that he failed notice the setting sun. "if I went missing tomorrow, I could count on you to give the cops a clear picture of me, right?"

Matthew smirked as he turned to Gilbert, clearly up for the challenge. "Let's see if I've got this right. A charming smile. _Dashing_ good looks. Eyes that shine like the purest rubies." Gilbert watched the boy's lips as he spoke, and it wasn't long before he found himself grinning back, unable to suppress the part of himself that loved it when Matthew teased him. He couldn't help but laugh as Matthew finished with, "Tall, short blonde hair, and pretty damn white."

"Impressive."

"Aren't I?"

"Now, can you repeat that first part for me?"

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Your unbelievably good looks or your breathtaking smile?"

"Man, keep talking like that and you'll _really_ get me going."

"Dork," Matthew scoffed. 

"Nerd."

"Gladly, thank you." Matthew broke into a smile as he heard Gilbert snicker.

"I'm gonna go get another soda," Gilbert said as he sat up. "You want one?"

"No, thanks, I’m fine." 

“Playing it safe this time, huh?”

Matthew gave a little smirk as he sat up as well. “Can you blame me?”

Gilbert laughed and got to his feet. "I'll be right back."

Matthew nodded and scooted himself back against the couch, the heat from the hearth still warm against his face. With Gilbert having disappeared into the next room and Aster still fast asleep in front of the fireplace, there wasn't much else Matthew could do but lose himself in his own thoughts. With his fingers playing at the collar of his borrowed shirt, he blushed. When he'd stood outside Gilbert's door just a few hours ago, Matthew never could have imagined he'd be stripping himself down in the boy's bathroom. This wasn't his house. These weren't his clothes and yet he felt so comfortable. _Gilbert_ had made him feel so comfortable.

In sitting there Matthew realized just how happy he was that his little mantra hadn't held true. Because it hadn't been just homework. It was thumb wrestling for the last slice of pizza, and splitting it afterwards anyway. It was using pillows as swords and shields. It was lounging in front of the fire and laughing at each other's jokes. And wondering how soon they could do it all over again.

Gilbert hadn’t expected Matthew’s spot to be empty when he returned, but it wasn’t all that surprising to find him crouched down in front of the fireplace, warming his hands. Matthew had really taken a liking to that old thing. Gilbert just stood there for a moment, watching him from the doorway. He watched as Matthew took some time to spoil Aster even as she slept, running a hand along her shiny coat. That dog was becoming his enemy. 

Matthew brought his attention back to the fire soon enough, pulling his hair back at his ear to let the heat warm his face. Beads of water ran down the can in Gilbert’s hand, past his fingers, cool against his hot skin. And he swallowed, not knowing why he hadn’t moved yet. Maybe it was because of how the room had grown dark. How the sky had turned purple. How the fire had dimmed. It was all a reminder of how much time had since passed. Of how little time they had left. 

The flames danced slowly, mournfully, as if they could read Gilbert’s mind. They would vanish soon. And so would Matthew. But dammit if Gilbert was going to sit back and watch the time slip away, stand here like an idiot when Matthew was right in front of him, making his house feel like a home. With Matthew here Gilbert could feel it, the life being breathed into each room. He wanted these walls to absorb every bit of their laughter, every giggle, snort, whisper, and sigh. He wanted Matthew to be there even after he was gone. 

Gilbert’s ears were burning because, fuck, Ludwig was right. Ludwig was right, and now he had to pretend like this arrow jammed through his heart wasn’t really there. He pushed himself forward to claim his spot near the fireplace, leaving his soda abandoned on the coffee table. He caught the tail end of Matthew’s chuckling as he approached.

“What are you laughing at?” he asked. Matthew turned his head around in Gilbert’s direction and quickly waved him over. Gilbert wasn’t all that sure about what it was that had Matthew so excited, but as long as it kept Matthew smiling like that, he didn’t care what it was.

“Listen,” he whispered as Gilbert sat down next to him, pointing to his left, where Aster lie. “Do you hear that?”

Gilbert narrowed his eyes. “Hear what?”

“She’s _snoring_.” He laughed again, the sound soft and breathy in his attempt to not disturb her. “I didn’t even know dogs could do that.”

“Oh.” Gilbert snorted. “Yeah, she does that sometimes. Probably tired herself out from all the excitement today.”

“What happened today?” he asked, hands steady smoothing at the retriever’s soft coat.

“What do you mean?” Gilbert scoffed. “ _You_ happened. She was pretty happy to see a new face. But I’m sure you could already tell by how she tackled you the floor.”

Matthew grinned. “What a handshake that was.”

“Still didn’t keep you from spoiling her every chance you get.”

“What?” Matthew feigned ignorance, rubbing at what little of Aster’s belly was exposed. “I don’t spoil her. If anything, she spoils me.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Matthew sighed. “I’ve never had any pets before, so…”

“Never?”

Matthew shook his head. “Unless you’re counting goldfish. But we could have had an empty fish bowl and I wouldn’t have known the difference. Fish don’t do anything.”

Gilbert didn’t know if Matthew was aware that he was pouting, but he was enjoying it nonetheless. “You’ve never thought about getting a guide dog?”

“I have,” the boy said through a wistful sigh. “I’ve actually wanted one since I was nine or ten, but my dad has really severe pet allergies, so that was never gonna happen.” He stretched his arms over his head and gave a little grunt of satisfaction. Gilbert pretended not to notice the way his own T-shirt rode up Matthew’s back. “Now I know where I can get my fix.”

“Oh, so my dog is worth another visit, but I’m not?” 

Matthew rolled his eyes as far as his prosthetics would allow him, shaking his head for good measure. “How could I ever forget _the_ Gilbert Beilschmidt?” he said, facetious as ever. “The boy whose eyes shine like the purest rubies.”

Gilbert blushed again, the same way he had when Matthew shot those words back at him the first time. It was pretty clear that Matthew wasn’t going to let that horrible joke have the quick death that it deserved, and for that Gilbert had no one to blame but himself. But it was fine, because Matthew had just given him enough ammo to return fire.

“You’re still thinking about my face, huh?” He reveled in how quickly the smirk dropped from Matthew’s face. “Must’ve left a good impression.”

“What?” Matthew scoffed. “God, you’re so lame.”

Gilbert shrugged. “Can’t be all that lame if you’re daydreaming about my beautiful face.”

“You’re not funny.”

“ _Ach ja_? Then why are you smiling?”

“Shut up, Gilbert.” 

Gilbert didn’t focus so much on the words themselves as much as the way Matthew had laughed them out. Even with the room so dim Gilbert could just make out the faintest bit of red blooming in the apples of his friend’s cheeks. Matthew looked as if he wanted to say something more, and Gilbert’s eyes fell to the boy’s lips as they parted. But all that came out was shy, almost nervous laugh.

“You’re the _last_ person I should be admitting this to,” he said. “Your head’s already big enough as it is.”

“Huh? Admitting what?” Matthew’s expression was sheepish, adorably so, leaving Gilbert’s mouth a little drier than before.

“I’d be lying if I said I was never curious about what you look like,” he said. There was nothing witty or humorous in his tone, and so Gilbert could only stare dumbly at him. Matthew was the only person he knew who could make the color red so contagious. “I haven’t always been blind, so…I wonder sometimes.”

“What people look like, you mean?” Gilbert was answered with a nod.

“People I’m close to, yeah. When you’re around someone enough, of course you get a little curious,” he chuckled. “I can’t even count how many times I’ve thought about what Al must look like now. Or my parents.”

“Do you…not remember what they look like?”

Matthew broke into a smile. “I do. I remember their faces more than anything. They’re the last people I saw.”

“Before your surgery.”

Matthew nodded again. “I was so young that I don’t remember much of anything about that day. Most everything I know is from the things my parents’ve told me. But the one thing I do remember is telling myself that I just _had_ to remember their faces.” 

Gilbert’s eyes never left Matthew’s face, even after he went silent. He was reminiscing; Gilbert could see as much from the smile he wore. It wasn’t even directed at him and yet Gilbert still found himself feeling warm because of it. It reminded him of all the stupid jokes he’d told when they first met. Reminded him of how desperate he’d been to see Matthew smile like this, openly, at ease. It would never grow old. He listened contentedly as Matthew’s voice coasted over the sounds of crackling wood, soft and soothing.

“Dad,” Matthew laughed, “he has these really bushy eyebrows. Al and I used to call them his caterpillars. Papa likes to keep his hair long, a bit longer than mine, and he’s got scruff on his face. Dad always nags at him when it grows too long.”

“And Alfred?” Gilbert couldn’t help grinning as the other laughed again.

“Al always had this cheesy grin on his face. I used to wonder how he smiled so wide without his face cracking open. And…he had this little cowlick on one side of his head. He would never sit still when our parents tried to comb it down. Not that it ever worked.”

“He’s still got it.”

“Pfft. Yeah, I thought so. Though I haven’t heard him complain about it since middle school.”

“Goes around smiling like he’s in a Colgate commercial, too. Sounds to me like his looks haven’t changed as much as you think.” 

“Maybe not,” he said, smiling to himself. “But…I’ve never seen him with glasses. He’s had to wear them since fourth grade, but I still can’t picture what he’d look like in them, so I…” He trailed off, leaning back a bit on his hand. “I wonder sometimes. I mean, just yesterday Papa was dyeing his gray hairs again. Every time I smell the dye he uses, I always wonder what he’d look like with gray hair. I just can’t imagine it.” He blushed, sinking his nails into the carpet. “It’s stupid, I know. It’s not like I’ll ever really know. Or that it even matters.”

“No, it’s not. Like you said, you weren’t born blind. You haven’t actually seen Alfred or your folks since you were a kid. How could you _not_ be curious?” Matthew didn’t respond right away, but his flushed face had become even more apparent, a deeper color than before. For Gilbert, it was as good a response as any.

“This is kind of embarrassing,” he said after a pause, “but there are times where I wonder what _I_ look like. I mean, of course I know what I look like. Only, the last time I saw myself I was three.” Gilbert laughed then, in a little huff that Matthew nearly missed. But the words that followed were unmistakable.

“You’re fucking adorable, Matthew. That’s all you need to know.” 

For the first time ever, Gilbert hadn’t blurted out his thoughts by mistake. And although it felt like someone had lit a match on his face, he had no desire to take it back. He looked over at Matthew, whose face was a pretty pink, blue eyes cast down to the floor. He nearly stopped breathing when they landed on him. His lips, as lovely a pink as was on his cheeks, curled into the gentlest smile and slowly parted.

And then Matthew’s phone rang. He apologized and quickly dug in his pocket, pulling out the phone and bringing it to his ear. “H-Hello?”

“Hey, Matt.”

“Al?” 

Gilbert deflated. Orwell, Aster, and now he could add Steve Rogers Jr. to the list. While Matthew spoke, he glanced back at the front window, where Alfred’s headlights shown through the open blinds. It was dark outside. He took out his own phone to check the time and frowned at what he saw staring back at him. How the hell had it already gotten so late?

“Yeah, bro. What’s wrong?” asked Alfred. “You sound out of breath.”

“It’s nothing.” Matthew shook his foggy head, trying to figure out how to breathe normally again. “What’s up?” His eyes narrowed when he heard giggling in the background, followed by his brother cursing.

“Huh? What do you mean? I’m here to pick you up.”

“O-Oh!” Matthew forced a laugh. “Right. Right.”

“I’ll be waiting outside, ‘kay?”

“Yeah...yeah I’ll be out in a sec.”

“Cool. W-Will you stay on your fucking side of the car, dammit?” Matthew sighed as Alfred hung up. His attention was quickly brought back to Gilbert as he spoke.

“Time flies, huh?”

“Yeah…” said Matthew, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “I didn’t mean to waste so much time rambling about myself. Sorry.” 

“Mattie, if I didn’t like hearing you talk, you think I would’ve invited you over?”

Matthew smiled as Gilbert took his hand, and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. “I guess I can’t really argue with that.”

“Hey, don’t look so sad,” he laughed. “You keep looking like that and I’ll have to keep you here.”

“Let’s do this again?” It came out as more of a question, and Gilbert was quick to answer it.

“Hell yeah.”

"Alright," he chuckled. “I’ve just gotta change real quick. Your dryer’s in your basement, right?”

“Yeah, it’s—“ Gilbert froze, leaving Matthew in a brief moment of speechless confusion. And then he cursed.

“What?”

“I…forgot to switch them over to the dryer.”

“Gil!”

“Hey, I didn’t do it on purpose! I guess I didn’t hear it buzz,” he mumbled.

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” Matthew huffed, wearing another one of those pouts that Gilbert couldn’t seem to get enough of. “Go outside in your pajamas?”

Gilbert stared at him. “Well…they’re a pretty good fit.”

Matthew regretted getting in the car the moment he shut the door.

“Mattie, what are you wearing...”

Matthew fumbled with his seatbelt. "Can we _please_ just go?"

"Why are you in his clothes?" Those baggy pants stuffed inside his boots definitely weren't his brother's beloved blue jeans. Even with Matthew trying to hide his face in his scarf Alfred could see the shade of red painted all over it. Ivan glanced over at the side view mirror from the passenger seat, watching Matthew’s reflection squirm.

“Perhaps Matvey would like to keep private matters private,” he cooed.

“Private matters, my ass!”

“There are no ‘private matters,’” Matthew groaned. “Just drive the damn car, Al!”

“But—”

“ _Step on it, dammit._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert's having albinism has been a part of fanon lore for I don't know how long now, and I know the idea has kind of stuck for many of us in the fandom, but I did just want to mention (for those who may not know) that in real life cases of albinism in humans, the color of the irises always appear blue, not red. This is unfortunately a misconception that has been popularized by popular movies and TV shows, and while its a common trope in fiction, it's completely unheard of IRL.
> 
> In other words, my explanation for Gilbert's eye color is shameless pseudo-medical bullshit ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	8. Good Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is wondering when the hell it's going to be official.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little different than those before it in that it isn't very linear. Some scenes in this chapter take place during events in chapters 6 and 7, scenes that were purposely left out with this chapter in mind. Other scenes won't make sense until you reach the very end. And lastly, as of this chapter, the M rating has officially become relevant. With that in mind, please continue on, and enjoy.

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Matthew was supposed to be doing homework, but instead he found himself standing awkwardly in front of his brother’s bedroom door. He gulped, fiddling with the drawstrings of his hoodie, doing his best to ignore the pit at the bottom of his stomach. His breaths were mechanical, his mouth unbelievably dry, and for the slightest second he had the sudden urge to turn around and forget he had ever even considered what he was about to do. He shook his head, scolding himself for letting his nerves get the better of him. He _needed_ to do this. With a soft sigh, he brought his knuckles to his brother’s door, his whole body tensing as he registered the call of his name.

“Mattie?”

“Al,” he gasped and whipped around, a hand clutched to his chest. “I, uh, thought you were in your room.”’

“Well, I was,” Alfred said, eyes rolling, “but I had to go re-park the car. You know how Dad bitches about me not leaving him enough room.” Alfred watched as the other nodded in understanding, a nervous laugh leaving his lips. It didn't take very long for him to notice the unsettling lack of color in his brother’s face, and he frowned slightly, slipping his car keys in his back pocket.

“You ok, br‒”

“Yeah, I-I’m fine,” he answered, a little too quickly for Alfred’s liking. He narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms at his chest. There had to be something more than he was letting on, especially seeing as Matthew had yet to move from in front of his door.

“You were about to knock on my door, weren’t you? You need something?” Alfred watched as soft blue eyes fell to the floor, and then off to the side.

“Can we talk?”

Alfred was taken aback by how the timidly Matthew spoke. While his voice had always been on the softer side, that shyness he was hearing was reserved for strangers, and Alfred damn sure wasn’t a stranger. Matthew winced as a hand came to ruffle his hair.

“What’s with that face? You think I was gonna say no or something?” Alfred chuckled, clicking open his door. “Get in here.” Matthew shuffled past him inside, pouting as he blew a few hairs away from his flushed face.

Alfred gently closed the door behind him, frowning when he saw his brother seated in his desk chair, shoulders tense, wringing his hands in his lap. “Matt,” he said, “I swear to god, if—”

“Al,” he sighed, “no one’s bothering me.” Alfred released a breath of his own, relieved that, once again, his suspicions were wrong. It was a reflex sort of thing his mind did; he couldn't help it.

“You can’t come in here lookin’ like that and expect me not to ask,” he said, yanking his brother’s hood playfully over his head, which he pulled back with a pout. “So, what’s up?” 

Matthew licked his dry lips, his mouth opening, closing, and then opening again, only for him to realize that he couldn’t find his voice. Even louder than the thumping in his chest was the voice in his head telling him to _just say it already, dammit_ , and yet his sweaty palms and gurgling stomach were pleading with him to _just drop it_. Matthew released a shaky sigh, and with it came his answer, the words rushing suddenly and awkwardly from his mouth as if he had just remembered how to speak. His mouth snapped shut just as quickly as it had opened. But it was already too late. 

Alfred smiled just short of splitting his face in two.

###### 

Gilbert shrieked as he slammed Matthew’s locker shut, jerking backwards when he found himself face-to-face with his newfound frenemy. Quickly, he looked all around himself, red eyes darting around to confirm that no one had witnessed such an unawesomely vulnerable display. Fortunately enough for Gilbert, there was enough hustle and bustle in the halls to drown out the pathetic sound. He scoffed as the other giggled behind his hand and conjured up the nastiest glare he could manage with his heart still pounding the way that it was. Ivan smiled in spite of the pale middle finger that emerged from Gilbert’s pocket.

“Did I frighten you, my friend?”

“Why the hell are you sneaking around here? Don’t just walk up on people like that, you fucking creep!” 

He rolled his eyes at the smile on Ivan’s face. It was the same disturbingly sweet smile that he’d come to know his freshman year, still as unsettling and annoying as it was the year before. Now, thanks to Gilbert’s friendship with Matthew, Matthew’s relation to Alfred, and Alfred’s subtle-but-not-really-subtle boyfriend status with Ivan, Gilbert had come to tolerate him, mostly out of respect for Alfred, and with gentle coaxing from Matthew. 

“He’s really nice once you get to know him,” Matthew had said, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Evidently Alfred doesn’t hate him as much as he thought he did.” He hated to admit it, but Matthew had been right. Ivan was still an asshole, though. 

“It is not my fault you did not hear me approach,” Ivan reasoned. “Perhaps you are going deaf?”

“Oh, you didn't know? My ears kinda do this thing where they tune out assholes.”

“Hm? What was that?”

“I said—”

“Ah, I’m thinking my ears suffer from the same condition.” Gilbert emitted something between a scoff and a laugh. 

“Look, I’ve got places to be. What do you want?” 

“Yes, places to be.” Gilbert glanced down at Ivan’s out stretched hand, where a small slip of paper sat folded between his fingers. Curious, he took the paper from Ivan, quickly unfolding it to read its contents. It was from Alfred. “After school @ 3,” it read. And apparently he had to “be there or else!!!” There was an address too. Gilbert looked up from the big, bold handwriting and over at Ivan, laughing.

“What, are we in third grade? Why couldn’t he just text me?”

“There are reasons,” Ivan said vaguely. Gilbert rolled his eyes and looked down at the paper once more.

“Meet him for what?” he asked, pale brows scrunching together. Much to his frustration, Ivan only smiled and put a finger to his lips.

“It would be in your best interest to go,” he said. 

“And if I don’t?”

“You will go.” Gilbert shrunk back a little as Ivan took a step forward, his smile sickly sweet. “I could take you there myself if you would like that better.”

“Back off, Putin, I’ll go, alright? Sheesh. Not like I had other awesome things to do today…” he mumbled. 

“Good. Matvey must not know about this, yes?”

“Huh? Wait—”

“ _Udachi_.”

“Wait!” Gilbert grumbled as Ivan walked off, cursing his ignorance of the Russian language. With a huff, he looked down at the paper in his hand, wondering just what the hell was going on.

“Gil?” He whipped around when Matthew’s voice reached his ears. 

“Mattie!” Matthew snickered at the way his voice cracked. “W-When did you get here?” 

“A few seconds ago,” the boy said with a small smirk. His fingers twisted and turned at his combination lock, ears perked as he listened for each click. “I didn’t know you talked to yourself, Gil.”

Gilbert flushed. “I wasn’t! I was talking to Ivan.” _Shit_ , was he supposed to say that?

“Ivan?" His voice echoed from inside his locker as he fished through it, smiling to himself when he came across Gilbert's jacket and scarf and books and other belongings that had accumulated over the course of the year. "What did he want?”

“Nothing!” He shoved the paper into his pocket, clearing his throat. Smooth, stealthy, awesome. No one could do it better than Gilbert Beilschmidt. “Ready to head to lunch?”

Matthew grabbed hold of his lunch box and shut the door with a soft click. “Yep.”

By three in the afternoon, Gilbert was exactly where he was supposed to be, and had he been meeting anybody else but Alfred, he would have questioned whether or not he was in the right place. A soft chuckle left him as his gaze fell upon a twin pair of golden arches and he shook his head, walking into the tiny establishment. Now Alfred’s last minute text about “sitting near Ronald” made a whole lot more sense. He gave a small nod and a wink to the girl behind the counter as he passed, steering clear of the squealing children that sprinted by him with their kids meals in tow.

It wasn’t long before Gilbert found the two men he was looking for, their friend Ronald plastered to a nearby bench with a smile that made his skin crawl, his arm draped unnaturally over the bench as if inviting Gilbert to take a seat at his side. Much to Gilbert’s relief, Alfred was seated in a booth a comfortable distance away from the creepy-ass statue, tapping away at his phone while he sipped on something sweet. Alfred looked up as he heard Gilbert approach.

“Sup, dude,” he said with a grin, holding out a lidded cup as Gilbert greeted him. “Got you a McFlurry.”

As Gilbert slipped inside the booth opposite of Alfred, he slowly took the shake and mumbled his thanks, appreciating the gesture, but confused all the same. There was something in Alfred’s eyes that Gilbert couldn’t quite discern, but there was one thing of which he was absolutely certain. Alfred hadn’t brought him all the way there just to give him free ice cream.

###### 

“It’s too fucking cold for this shit,” Lovino grumbled to himself, cranking up the heat with one hand and warming the other with his own breath.

 _Santa Claus is Coming to Town_ was playing on the radio, and it was driving him insane. Not the song itself, but the fact that it was probably the fifteenth damn Christmas song he’d heard in the past hour. Antonio had turned to some stupid Christmas station, and the only reason Lovino hadn’t changed it was because everything else was full of static, and he wasn’t about to listen to fucking static. He would've turned it off completely, but the part of him that went weak in the knees for Antonio's singing voice prevented him from doing so. He'd play _Feliz Navidad_ on fucking repeat if Antonio was singing along to it. Not that he'd ever admit that. He shuddered and stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, frantic fingers groping around for his gloves. He couldn’t put them on fast enough. With a pout, he brought his hands once again to his mouth, rubbing them together while he stole glances at his boyfriend through the rear view mirror. 

Lovino couldn’t help the way his lips quirked behind his gloved hands, a soft huff of laughter leaving him as he watched Antonio scrape ice off the back windshield. He looked happy as can be, smiling that idiotic smile of his even as he stood in the middle of the ear-biting cold. Shaking his head, Lovino sunk back into his seat, peering lazily into the mirror to watch snowflakes coat Antonio’s chocolate brown hair. It was only when he realized that Antonio was staring back at him that he tore his eyes away, a flush rising to his cheeks. Scoffing softly, he opened his door and called out loud enough for Antonio to hear.

“Hurry up and get in here before you freeze your ass off!”

Antonio laughed as he slipped behind the wheel, quickly shutting the door when Lovino complained about him letting all the heat out. “You missed me, didn’t you?”

“No.” Antonio hummed thoughtfully as he shifted his beanie on his head. 

“So those pretty red cheeks aren’t for me, then?”

“It’s fucking cold outside,” Lovino replied. “Bastard,” he added under his breath, turning towards the window in an attempt to save face. He gasped as two arms came to hug him from behind, a chilled nose nuzzling the nape of his neck.

“ _Ay, eres tan lindo_ ,” he sighed into the warmth of the Lovino's skin.

“Yeah, and you’re too damn cold,” Lovino mumbled, although he made no attempts to break free of the other’s grasp. Instead he folded his arms at his chest, leaning back as they both fell into a comfortable quiet, the gentle sound of the heater whirring in the background. _Jingle Bell Rock_ had started playing. 

“So, how much longer are we waiting for these idiots?” Lovino glared through the window at the crowds of people pouring out of the movie theater, not exactly thrilled about the overpriced food, shitty kids, and mediocre service he was sure to encounter. This double-date thing was his stupid brother’s idea. 

“Hmm.” Antonio pulled away and took out his phone to check the time. Feliciano and Ludwig were supposed to meet them at 2:30. It was 2:16. “We’ve still got time before the movie starts. Didn’t Feli say they were close?”

“If they were really close, then they’d be here already,” he said dryly. 

“Crap…”

Lovino sat up and looked over at Antonio. He was staring at his phone, grimacing at its lit screen. “What? What’s that face for?”

“Gil,” he said, rubbing sheepishly at his neck. “He’s been texting me all this time.” He quickly scrolled through message after message, his guilt quickly replaced by amusement. “He’s...really worked up over this study date of his.”

“You’re not serious.”

“There’s...fifteen messages here.”

“What?” Lovino snorted. “Let me see that.” Antonio handed it over and leaned forward on the steering wheel, eyes narrowing as he frowned in his confusion. 

“But I didn’t get any notifications…”

“Your phone’s on silent, genius.” He promptly flipped it back off.

“Oh.”

“Ha!” Lovino laughed, his eyes scanning over blocks of text, each message more frantic than the one before it. The last message was sent an hour ago: a distressed string of question marks. “Oh my god. This is fucking _gold_.”

Antonio leaned over to read along with Lovino, stifling his own laughter. “I didn’t think he was that nervous. I feel a little bad though...”

Lovino scoffed and handed back the phone. “What an idiot. All that talk about that damn date, a date that Matthew doesn’t even know he’s on, and here he is about to shit himself.”

Antonio leaned back in his seat, scrolling through his phone in awe. “I’ve never seen him get like this. Over anyone.” He thought back to their years in junior high. “His crush on Liz wasn’t even this bad, was it?”

“It’s pretty obvious this shit’s more than a crush.”

Antonio smiled to himself, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Love, then?”

Lovino shrugged and made a face, scrunching up his nose as if he’d smelled something foul. He wasn't particularly eager to speculate about the recent developments in his friend’s love life. “How should I know?” He paused a moment before adding, “All I know is he’s obsessed with the kid.”

Antonio’s hand lingered by his pocket. “Think it’s too late to send him some encouragement?”

“As if he’d pay attention to his phone with Matt in front of him.” He waved a dismissive hand. “He’ll figure it out.”

And Gilbert did figure it out, eventually, according to what Feliciano told them once he and Ludwig had finally arrived. Antonio had just returned from concessions with a sizable bucket of popcorn and drinks when Feliciano spotted them, pulling along a sheepish-looking Ludwig and waving animatedly as he greeted the two. 

“Ooh, what’s this?” Lovino recoiled and grimaced as his brother stepped forward, his gaze settling on the tiny gem in his left ear. Feliciano looked from his brother to Antonio and then his brother again, grinning. It was subtle enough, its glint just barely visible when Lovino tilted his head a certain way. But it was impossible for Feliciano to miss; that definitely hadn’t been there when he’d seen his brother that morning. “An early Christmas gift?”

Lovino blushed, shoving him away. “So what if it is? What took you and wurst-for-brains so long?” he asked, quickly changing the subject. Feliciano smiled and sent a look Ludwig’s way, to which Ludwig sighed and shrugged. Lovino was less than impressed. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Gilbert,” Ludwig attempted to elaborate.

Feliciano giggled. “We had to keep Mattie company until Gil got home.”

“Got home?” Antonio frowned. “Wasn’t he already at home? I mean, Matthew met him at his house, right?”

“Matthew arrived before he did.” The looks on Antonio’s and Lovino’s faces prompted Ludwig to further explain. He hadn’t particularly wanted to, but knew that had he left the task to Feliciano, they would have more than likely missed their movie. He explained the situation as concisely as he could, starting from the moment Gilbert had left out the door with a leash in hand. 

“What an _idiot_.” Lovino couldn’t help laughing as he said it.

“If only I had seen his messages,” Antonio said with a sheepish grin. “I really didn’t think he was so nervous.”

“But everything worked out fine in the end,” Feliciano assured them. “Gil was only a few minutes late. You guys should have seen the way they looked at each other!” he gushed.

“Yeah, if Matt could actually look.” Lovino smirked as Feliciano pouted and glared at him. He just couldn’t resist.  


“ _Well_ , I saw the way he lit up when Gilbert got there. I wanted to see a little more, but _someone_ made me leave.” He sent an accusatory glance at the boy at his side.

Ludwig sighed. “They needed their privacy.”

“Privacy?” Antonio smiled with anticipation. “Was something happening?”

“They were getting super close, weren’t they, Lud?” 

Antonio nearly dropped his popcorn. “ _Close_?”

Ludwig ran a hand through his hair and flushed slightly, looking awkwardly off to the side. “I have no interest in spying on my brother.” He jumped as a finger poked at his side.

“Aw, no fun! I know you saw it too.”

“Saw _what?_ What were they doing?” Lovino rolled his eyes and sipped on his soda. They were really doing this.

“Gil was playing in Mattie’s hair.” Feliciano had heard what Gilbert had said, but the whole act was just a little too intimate to be taming a few fly aways. “It was really cute.” 

Antonio deflated, humming disappointedly. “I was hoping for a kiss.”

“Who knows? Maybe today is the day?”

“Pft, I wish.” 

Lovino froze as all eyes went on him, his face setting ablaze as he realized what he had just said. Antonio was pulling that stupid, _stupid_ smile, his green eyes gleaming with mischief. Ludwig and Feliciano looked identical, their mouths hung open. He wanted punch them all in their stupid faces, but not before punching himself first; damn his stupid motherfucking tongue.

“You _wish _?” Feliciano repeated.__

“But I thought you didn’t care, Lovi?”

“I don’t,” he said, his nose pointing stubbornly to the ceiling. “But I’m tired of this shit. It’s been three fucking months. Three!" he repeated for emphasis. "What they need to do is get the hell together already. I'm sick of hearing you nosy jackasses gossiping about them every damn day. So yeah, I fucking wish.”

The four of them stood there inside the theater, Lovino’s face burning hotter with each passing moment in which none of them spoke, three pairs of eyes still on him. Slowly, Feliciano cracked a smile, and even Ludwig’s features had softened with a little smirk of his own. Antonio looked especially punchable.

“Fix your fucking faces,” he grumbled, shoving his straw back to his mouth. Stupid motherfucking tongue.

###### 

Matthew awoke that night with a start, eyes snapping open. His lips parted with a soft gasp, chest tightening with the sudden intake of air. He lie motionless in his bed, lashes fluttering against his pillowcase as he blinked a few times, disoriented. His mind was still foggy as he regained consciousness, but even in his haze he was quick to realize that he was uncomfortable. 

It was hot. 

His face was burning, skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. His hair, damp and disheveled, clung to the back of his neck, clammy hands grasping at his sheets. Matthew’s ears were filled with the sound of his own breathing, his breaths ragged and shallow, his heart racing. And then he froze, suddenly aware of his own body, and the warmth pooling deep within in his belly. And the buried fragments of his unconscious thoughts came to greet him in his wake.

_“Matthew…”_

Gasping again, he shot up, steadying his weight on his elbows. The voice, husky and low, echoed in his mind, and he brought a hand to the nape of his neck, remembering how his own name had felt whispered against it, how amazing it had sounded rolling off his accented tongue and into Matthew’s ears, how it left him trembling. It all came crashing back to him at once, and he shivered, a sharp tingle rushing straight down the length of his spine. 

Slowly, he lowered himself back onto his mattress and groaned, pushing his sticky hair away from his forehead. Part of him was grateful for having woken up when he did; the last thing he wanted to do was spend yet another morning scrambling to change his bedsheets. But his relief was quickly replaced with annoyance, because not only was he groggy and sweaty, he was horny too. 

He pressed his face into his pillow and squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to go back to sleep, to just slip away and forget about the blood rushing between his legs and the thumping in his chest and the boy who was the source of it all. But as Matthew lie there in the still quiet of his room, his mind began to wander, a name slithering its way into every corner and crevice of his brain. 

Gilbert Beilschmidt.

His hands twitched beneath the sheets, his legs fidgeting to accommodate the swelling between his thighs. Matthew gnawed at his bottom lip, hating himself for where his mind was going, for wondering what Gilbert’s hands might feel like at his waist and along his back, dragging across his body, fingertips caressing his skin just as softly as they had his hair. He wanted to trace the veins along his arms, to run his fingers along the taut muscles beneath. He wanted to feel Gilbert looming over him, wanted to feel Gilbert’s breath along his ear, the vibrations of his voice. He hated himself for it and yet, he loved the feeling of his eyelids growing heavy and his breaths becoming short once more, his fingers slipping beneath his waistband.

Matthew was still wearing Gilbert’s shirt. He had taken it and Gilbert’s pants off as soon as he retreated to his room that evening, thinking that the sooner he did so, the sooner Alfred would shut up about it. The clothes sat draped over his desk chair as he lost himself in one of his books, as he went downstairs for dinner, as he stepped into the bathroom for his shower. And as he got ready for bed, Matthew had fully intended to toss Gilbert’s clothes in with the rest of his laundry. His pants made it. His shirt did not. Before Matthew knew it, he was bringing the shirt to his nose, slipping it over his head.

He knew how fucked up it was, how fucked up _he_ was, to be getting himself off in his best friend’s clothing. And yet it seemed that his guilt, his knowing how wrong it was, made it feel all the more amazing. And he berated himself amidst his pleasure, assaulting his lip with his teeth while his hand gripped himself below, pulling at his hair as he shuddered with desire. How disgusting he was, selfishly indulging in his own fantasies, thinking of things that he knew friends should never think about friends. He knew it was wrong. But with each sharp intake of breath came Gilbert’s scent, lingering on the fabric of the shirt that wasn’t his, and Matthew’s thoughts were bombarded with everything _him_ , from the very moment Gilbert had claimed his desk all those months ago, to the words he had uttered just hours before, his voice strangely soft against the crackling of wood.

_“You’re fucking adorable, Matthew.”_

And Matthew moaned, shoving his face against his pillow to muffle the embarrassing sound. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought of such things, of Gilbert, like this. Nor was it the first time he’d touched himself. But it was the first time he’d touched himself to thoughts of Gilbert, to thoughts of anyone, and it was like nothing he’d ever felt before. It was the first time he'd felt genuine emotion behind his efforts, more than just the sensation skin against skin and a quick release. He hadn't known that someone could make him feel this way, that someone could make him _want_ so badly. It was Gilbert who was making his limbs quiver, his hips jerk. It was Gilbert Beilschmidt who had him wiping his brow, beaded with sweat, and dragging his tongue along his lips. 

Matthew could feel himself getting closer, and he reached out towards his nightstand, knocking over his alarm clock in his haste. He barely heard the noise it made as it hit the floor, his ears filled once again with the sounds of his heavy panting. With tissues in hand, he leaned back against his headboard, soft whimpers escaping his lips, boxers shoved down to his ankles, feeling himself squirm and buck until finally, it hit him, hard. He groaned, his eyes hitting the back of his skull. His whole body convulsed, shuddered as he willingly succumbed to the height of his peak.

And it was at that very moment that Matthew stopped lying to himself, that he stopped trying to bury the feelings swelling inside him, denying their existence, hoping that they would disappear. Because no one had ever made him feel the way Gilbert did. No one had ever made him feel so conflicted, so anxious, and yet giddy all the same. Never before had his chest ached the way it did as he lie there in his room, his head slumped back in the warmth of his afterglow. And Matthew knew he'd be a fool to ignore it.

###### 

“Do you think Matthew fancies him?” Arthur asked his husband from their bathroom, cursing as yet another hair was plucked from his brow. “Christ! Can you not be more gentle?” he grumbled, rubbing at the skin between his eyebrows. Francis clicked his tongue, a hand falling to his hip as he sighed at how hopelessly fragile his Englishman was.

“That one hurt because you moved,” he chided. “Now, hold still. I’m almost finished.”

“I was doing perfectly fine without your little pink torture device in my face,” Arthur huffed. “It was just a few hairs, nothing more.”

“It was a unibrow, Arthur.”

“Oh, it was not!”

“ _Non_ …” Francis smiled sweetly. “But it was getting there.”

Arthur scoffed. “So, you’re admitting that it wasn’t.”

“Oh, stop your whining. You’ll thank me when I’m done.” Arthur pouted and steadied himself on the edge of their bathtub, eyes closing as he allowed himself to relax. 

It was late, nearly ten o'clock, and had Francis not trapped him in the bathroom to fuss over something as asinine as a few stray hairs, Arthur would have already been in bed. The frog was lucky they had nowhere to be in the morning. Hopefully they could finish decorating the tree tomorrow. He suppressed a yawn, leaning into the warm hand cupping the side of his face. 

“So will you answer my question, git?”

“Hm, what was that?”

“Do you think Matthew fancies the boy?” he repeated. “Gilbert.” Arthur heard, and felt, Francis laugh, nothing more than a soft huff of air against his cheek. He cracked open an eye to see a small smile. It wasn’t one of those cheeky smiles he had been expecting, but a genuine smile, his gaze soft and somewhat distant, as if recalling a memory. He then looked directly at Arthur.

“Why? Do you?”

Arthur frowned at such a stupid question, but quickly relaxed his face as those dreaded tweezers came towards his brow. “Obviously,” he snapped, “else I wouldn’t be asking you.” 

Francis gave an amused hum. “After tonight, we’d be in denial to think otherwise.” 

Arthur cracked a smile, remembering how helpless Matthew had looked during dinner earlier that night, fidgeting in his seat once the conversation had landed on said boy. Matthew had nearly rivaled his brother with the way that he was stuffing his mouth with food, most likely, Arthur figured, to avoid answering his questions.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Matt eat so quickly.” 

“Maybe we shouldn’t have teased him so much,” Francis said, but the smirk on his face told otherwise.

“We?” Arthur scoffed. “You mean _you_?”

“He was fine until you suggested he invite the young man to dinner.”

Arthur folded his arms defensively at his chest. “And why wouldn’t I? I’d much like to meet the lad who has my son resembling a beet each time we mention his name. Wouldn’t you?” 

“Of course. If I hadn’t already met him.”

“...What?” Arthur’s eyes shot open as Francis’ hand left his cheek, blue eyes scanning Arthur’s face to admire his finished work. He grabbed the mirror sitting on the sink nearby and held it in front of the Englishman.

“Better, _oui_?”

“Yes, yes, it’s bloody brilliant, Francis. Now, what did you say? You’ve already _met_ him?” 

“You didn’t even look,” he said with a pout.

“Francis!” Francis couldn’t help laughing at how desperate Arthur sounded. Maybe he shouldn’t have waited so long to tell him. 

“Yes, we met, but—”

“What? And you didn’t tell me?”

Francis shrugged slightly. ”We didn’t talk for very long.”

“But you _talked_! You _met_!” For Francis to so casually announce his meeting with the mysterious boy was mind-boggling to Arthur. 

Gilbert—it was a name that the couple had become intensely familiar with during the past few months. He was a friend of Matthew’s, they knew that much. But the more Arthur and Francis heard his name, the more they realized that they didn’t know much else. They’d heard the boy’s name so many times, but had yet to see his face, or hear his voice. Who _was_ Gilbert? The two had been dying to know. To know how the boy carried himself, to get a feel for his personality. Francis finally had insider information, and Arthur wanted in on it too. Not even a middle aged bloke like him could resist a bit of frivolous gossip. Especially when it involved his son’s crush.

“Where did you meet?” he pressed. “When? What did you talk about? What was he like?” Arthur paused momentarily to regain control of his racing thoughts. And then his face fell. “Why wasn’t I invited?” Was Matthew afraid he would embarrass him?

“Skype, Arthur,” Francis laughed. “That’s why you weren’t invited.” Arthur gave him a look that prompted Francis to explain. “It was by chance, honestly,” he said, eyes softening as he recalled the circumstances. “I went into Matthieu’s room for his laundry a few days ago. He was on his computer. I didn’t think anything of it until he started talking to it,” he chuckled. 

“Oh, that was my Papa,” Matthew had said, prompting Francis to peek over as he left his son’s closet with a basket at his hip. There was a boy on his screen.

“ _Et qui est-ce? _” Francis asked with a smirk, though he already had a pretty good idea of who he was looking at. The boy's stark blonde hair and red eyes were unforgettable to say the least, even still with the grainy footage of his low quality webcam.__

“ _A-Ah, c'est mon ami Gilbert_.” Matthew blushed at the sound of Gilbert’s laughter in his ears, the boy saying something or the other about how “pretty” his name sounded in French. Matthew tuned him out as he continued. “ _Nous faisons nos devoirs._ ”

“ _Devoirs, hein?_ ” 

Matthew turned suddenly as he felt the bed dip next to him. “P-Papa?” 

“It would be rude of me to leave so suddenly with a friend in the room, _non_?” Before Matthew could even sputter out an answer, one of his earbuds was plucked from his ear. “Hello, Gilbert. I am Matthieu’s papa,” Francis said warmly. He wanted to laugh at the way the boy seemed to stiffen when their eyes met. “I’ve been hearing a lot about you.”

“Oh, h-hello. It’s, uh, nice to meet you, sir.” It was strange for Matthew to hear him speak so formally, and he would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so terrified of what his father would say next.

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine. You’re something of a celebrity around here, you know.” Francis might have been exaggerating just a tad, but he simply couldn’t pass up an opportunity like this. The seed had already been planted a while ago; he was just watering it a bit.

“Papa!” Matthew whined under his breath. His grip tightened around the small paperback book he held, absolutely mortified. Awkward. This was going to be awkward. Matthew waited for the long, uncomfortable silence that he was sure would follow, but it never came.

“Celebrity, huh?” Gilbert laughed sheepishly, in a way so different from the boisterous cackles Matthew was used to. To hear such an unusually modest sound coming from him was actually really...cute. _Merde_ , he cursed in his head, could he _not_ blush when his meddling father was right next to him? “Geez, Mattie, what’ve you been saying about me?”

“N-Nothing.” He could not sit through another second more of this. If he had just taken his laundry downstairs the night before, this all could have been avoided. “ _Alleeez, Papa,_ ” Matthew pleaded. Francis bit back laughter as Matthew gave him a light, off-camera shove. “We need to finish our homework.”

“But we’ve only just met! We would love to have you over sometime, Gilbert,” he said in spite of the hand shoving at his waist. “From what we’ve been hearing, you sound like a very charming young man.”

This was as far as Francis got before Matthew kicked him out of the room.

“You twit.” Arthur laughed as he said it. “Matthew will never want to bring him over now.”

Francis shrugged innocently. “Then we’ll just have to wait until they start dating.”

 _Dating_. Arthur cringed inwardly at the word as Francis spoke it aloud. “ _If_ they start...”

His voice trailed off, unable to bring himself to say it. He was only just beginning to realize how truly unprepared he was for what might be coming next, reminded of the fact that his wee little Matthew wasn’t so little anymore. Arthur had watched his son change over the past few months, holding his head a little higher, laughing a little louder, smiling brightly, freely. Now most mornings it was Matthew who was dragging Alfred out the door before school, not the other way around. There was no denying that Matthew was happier. And there was no denying that Gilbert was the reason why. And Arthur wondered if it would really be so bad if his son’s firsts were shared with someone who brought him so much joy. He looked up when he heard his husband laugh again, the sound just as soft as before. 

“I’ve seen that look before.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Arthur mumbled as he stood, peeking in the mirror to scrutinize Francis’ work. It looked cleaner, he supposed. Not that he was going to say that aloud.

Francis smirked and leaned against the door frame, locking eyes with Arthur’s reflection. “Arthur,” he crooned, “you know I know you better than that.”

Arthur flushed, suddenly more interested in the hand soap than the sight of the other’s smug face. “I was reminiscing a bit, what of it? I’m an old man, frog.” He turned to face the man behind him, whose expression had softened. “Don’t you remember the day he woke up, Francis?” Arthur’s voice was just above a whisper.

The smile on the Frenchman’s face fell. “Of course I do.” 

He would never forget it. The way Matthew cried for them. The way he grabbed at the gauze over his eyelids. How fragile his tiny hands felt as Francis took them in his own. He remembered how they trembled, how he squeezed them tightly, how he brought them to his lips and kissed them, speaking softly so that his son would hear him and feel him and know that Papa was there. He remembered the way Arthur stroked Matthew’s hair, kissed his forehead, how his voice began to waver and his eyes began to well, wiping tears from Matthew’s cheeks while he ignored his own.

“I remember how guilty I felt. As I lie with him in that bed and held him,” Arthur said. He could still remember how that little hand grasped at the fabric of his shirt, holding on as if he would disappear at any moment. “I knew we’d made the right choice, but I felt so guilty. And I was scared. Because I didn’t know if we would be able to give him the life he deserved.”

“Arthur…”

Francis frowned, his chest tightening when Arthur echoed himself from all those years before, as Francis held him in his arms, neither of them able to sleep. Matthew would have to learn how to walk again, Arthur kept saying, how to read. They would have to learn along with him. How would he adapt? How would he fair in school? How would people treat him? Would he make friends? What if they couldn’t give him what he needed? Would he feel alone? All his fears for Matthew came rushing out and Francis listened while they lie there in darkness, their son’s cries still fresh in each other’s minds.

Arthur and Francis never wanted Matthew to think he was less than. That he didn’t deserve the things and experiences his peers had because he was disabled, or because of how people around him may treat him. And although they told him this repeatedly, they could tell that as he approached adolescence he began to struggle. They knew he was having trouble with school, with people. The last thing they had wanted was for their son to feel alienated, but it seemed as if school was making him feel just that. His middle school years had been the worst, and despite high school being significantly better, the two parents still found themselves concerned. This year, though, had been completely different.

Arthur laughed suddenly. “But now I’m standing here worrying myself about a boy Matthew likes, and realizing that this is all I’ve ever wanted for him. To see him smiling and happy, having his little crushes and spending time with friends.”

Francis smiled. “It’s a beautiful sight, isn’t it?”

Arthur nodded, wearing a smile that mirrored his husband's. “Truly.”

###### 

“I like Gilbert.”

It had come out just like that. And although his heart was still thrashing around in his chest, Matthew couldn’t believe how much lighter he felt. He couldn’t believe how _good_ it had felt, to finally say the words aloud. And he felt like he could laugh and scream and cry all at the same time, because it had really been just that simple. 

“Holy shit,” came Alfred’s response. 

Matthew shifted in his seat, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Was Alfred angry? And then a pillow collided with his face, followed by an expert noogie only a big brother could give. Matthew whined, attempting but failing to escape Alfred’s grip. “Al! What are you doing?! That hurts!”

“Took you long enough, bro!” he laughed, letting Matthew free. “Am I dreaming or what?” 

“...What?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to say that since October, dude!”

Matthew froze. “You...you knew?”

“Hell yeah I knew!” Alfred cried. He watched as Matthew’s face turned progressively red and laughed. “God, seriously, what took you so long?”

“I don’t know! I just...we’re just friends and I thought I would just...keep it to myself.”

Alfred frowned. “Mattie, how is he supposed to know you like him if you keep it to yourself?”

Matthew blinked. “That’s the point.”

“You’re not gonna tell him?” Alfred sounded appalled. 

“No!”

“Dude, why not?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because I don’t know if he likes me back, Al!”

Alfred narrowed his eyes in disbelief, and just as he made to respond Matthew spoke again.

“We’re friends, Al. Gilbert...he’s the first real friend I’ve ever had,” he said softly. “And because of him I’ve made even more. I don’t want to mess it all up because of my feelings.”

“Matthew, I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“W-What?”

“You guys are ridiculous,” Alfred sighed, snagging his phone from his pocket and scrolling through his contacts for his desired recipient. Vanya. He smirked as he quickly sent out his message; they had to move this thing along. And fast. “Mattie,” he chuckled, “the reason I was so hard on him at first is _because_ I knew that he liked you.”

Matthew gulped, hearing what his brother was saying, but having a difficult time processing it. Gilbert? Like him? He shook his head. “If you knew that he...then why didn’t you say anything?”

“I wanted to hear it from you first. I knew that if you really didn’t want anything with him, you wouldn’t have told me. But you did.” Alfred grinned. “So, what does that mean?”

Matthew groaned and held his hands over his face, his voice muffled. “What do I do?”

Alfred could have been a double for the Cheshire Cat. “I’ve got you covered, bro.” Within seconds he was sending Ivan a time and a place.

Where better to interrogate his brother’s suitor than at Mickey D’s? Alfred hoped Gilbert thought tomorrow would be as "awesome" as he did.


	9. It's Really, Really That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9 is here!
> 
> Yes, I know, it's _finally_ here!
> 
> I won't bore you with where I've been or what I've been doing, but I did just want to thank everyone who has subscribed, bookmarked, commented, and given kudos to this story. It really means a lot to me, and makes me happy to know that so many people are enjoying what I write. I honestly didn't think that this story would gain as much traction as it has, and for that I am extremely grateful.
> 
> We're beginning to reach the climax. No skipping around in this chapter; it's all chronological. I hope you enjoy it!

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"Because you like my brother."

The words had been so sudden. So matter-of-fact that Gilbert nearly dropped the ice cream he held in his hand. Or...maybe it hadn't been so sudden. Gilbert had asked why he was there after all—and that had been Alfred’s answer, albeit unexpected. All at once, Gilbert felt his breath leave him, his heart leaping into his throat. Alfred’s lips had stopped moving, but it was as if his eyes were saying everything his voice wasn’t. 

Gilbert was only mildly aware of the goosebumps appearing along his arms and the stiffness of the hairs at his neck, tensing as he realized the boy across from him was waiting for an answer. But for the first time in his life, Gilbert found himself genuinely struggling to form words, not because he didn’t know what to say, but because he wasn’t sure how they would sound once they escaped the safe, secluded corners of his mind. Once they became words and not merely thoughts.

“Or am I wrong?”

The question hung in the air, and Gilbert’s heart thrashed hysterically in his chest as he came to terms with the fact that Alfred, Matthew’s brother of all people, would be the first to hear what he’d dare say next. 

Alfred watched as Gilbert ran a hand through his white-blonde hair, a deep red tinging the tips of his ears and cheeks with an intensity that rivaled that of his eyes. It was a strange thing to see him so hesitant, so visibly uncomfortable. _This guy_ , Alfred thought to himself. Even with an ego the size of the sun, Gilbert Beilschmidt, whose very presence seemed to engulf nearly everyone he met, had become an awkward teenage boy. It was the stuff of cheesy romance novels, and had Alfred not been so invested in Gilbert’s next words, he surely would have laughed. A little longer and Alfred was sure Gilbert would blend right in with the booth he sat in.

“Honestly, Alfred...” Gilbert began, his voice so much softer than Alfred was anticipating, “I don’t even know if ‘like’ cuts it anymore.” 

It was Alfred’s turn to be shocked, eyes widening as the meaning of Gilbert’s words sunk in. Gilbert exhaled in a short huff of relief, as if those words had been holding him hostage. With a restless hand still in his hair, he winced, mumbling to himself in words Alfred couldn't understand.

"L-Look, I know I'm a fucking wreck right now," Gilbert said, his accent thickening in his anxiousness, "but I'm not just talking out of my ass. I meant exactly what I said. I mean, Christ...all he has to do is smile at me and it's like I forget how to fucking breathe." He sighed softly, rubbing at his neck . "I like Matthew. A lot. And lately, I..." he trailed off, trying his damnedest to ignore the way his cheeks began to sting. "I feel like it might be...just a little more than that."

He wouldn't dare say it aloud. Not while he was still so unsure. Not while he was still trying to accept how foreign his own heart felt within his chest, how it could feel so weightless and yet be slamming into his ribcage like fists against a locked door, like it was screaming at Gilbert for the missing key.

If it wasn't _that_ then, god, what else could it be?

What else could be making his head feel so light, his breaths shallow? There couldn't possibly be anything else that could explain why his heart was racing like this, why his entire being ached with this perpetual yearning that he could no longer resist. Gilbert _adored_ Matthew. He adored everything _about_ Matthew. His smile, his laugh, the faces he would make when Gilbert told his stupid jokes. He lived for the way Matthew pursed his lips when he was deep in thought, the way he pouted when Gilbert teased him, how he'd hide behind his hands when he was embarrassed, or flash the smuggest of smiles when he'd won one of their silly little arguments. It was almost too much for him to watch the way Matthew's face would light up when Gilbert asked him about a book he was reading, how the pitch of his voice would rise in his excitement. Even the way his hair would frizz up on rainy days, or how the frigid winter air would tinge his nose and cheeks pink—Gilbert just couldn't stand it.

He couldn't stand the feeling of his chest tightening when Matthew giggled his name, of his breath catching when Matthew took hold of him. He'd felt his mind go numb the very first time they'd hugged, relishing in the warmth of Matthew's body against his own, the scent of his hair, the feeling of Matthew in his arms. And it took everything within Gilbert not to pull him right back. This is what he was feeling. And he was afraid that he would never find the right words to express it.

Alfred furrowed his brow, staring at the boy in front of him in a sort of stupefied awe. He had known for months that Gilbert liked his brother, but _this_ , what Gilbert was hinting at, was beyond anything Alfred had anticipated. "You're...you're serious."

Gilbert looked up at him, chuckling. "Well, I'm not making myself look like an idiot on purpose. Yeah," he said with a nod. "I'm serious. Your brother's cute as hell.”

“Tell me somethin’ I don’t know," Alfred laughed, his smile fading. "I can't even remember the last time I heard someone say that." His voice was low as he thought aloud, his gaze leaving Gilbert for the window. "Someone that isn't Dad or Pops." He couldn't help laughing again. "God, Gilbert, the more I try to find something I don't like about you, the more I come up empty-handed."

Gilbert laughed nervously, not knowing whether to be offended or relieved. 

Alfred's eyes settled back on Gilbert. "Really, Gilbert. Ever since I met you I've been waiting for you to fuck up," he said with a sudden frankness that made the other tense. "Because that's what Mattie's 'friends' have always done. They play with his emotions. Make 'im feel welcome 'til they get bored of playing good samaritan and disappear. And I was waiting for you to do the same." 

Visibly appalled, Gilbert was quick to respond. "What? Why would you think I'd do something like that to him? I'd never—"

"I know, Gil. I know," he conceded. Alfred stared at his accidental friend, at the way his chest protruded, at the way those fiercely red eyes stared back at him with a potency that left no room for doubt. His tone was fond as he spoke again."You sure as hell proved me wrong."

Gilbert's shoulders went slack as Alfred gave a soft chuckle, and only then did he realize how suddenly he'd lunged forward in his own defense. He slowly sat back in his seat, clearing his throat. "So," he said, the break in conversation short-lived, "was that your first impression of me then? Some kinda jackass looking for community service?"

Alfred sighed, his eyes apologetic. "It wasn't you, it was me. I was just looking for something that wasn't there, and I know it was wrong of me to judge you like that, but it's...it's just something that I'm trying to work on," he admitted. "I can't help but be cautious of the people Mattie hangs out with. Because I've seen how people have treated him, and I'll be damned if I see it happen again." Alfred paused, clenching his jaw. His mind was teeming with such vengeful thoughts, thoughts that he knew would be better kept to himself. Nonetheless, it didn't stop him from venting, years of pent up frustration finally boiling over.

"Before he was the ‘blind kid,’” Alfred scowled as the words left his mouth, “he was just Mattie, my cute kid brother. And even after he lost his eyes, he was still my cute kid brother, who just happened to be blind." A bitter smile stretched across his face. "But to everyone else he’s just this no-name handicapped kid. And they refuse to believe that he’s a real person with feelings. Either they tiptoe around him like he’s fucking contagious, or talk to him like he’s three. You know what that _does_ to a person?" Alfred sighed inaudibly, attempting to calm himself as he stared into the pit of his empty cup. The question had been a rhetorical one, but after a short silence Gilbert responded, Alfred looking up as he did so.

"Yeah," he replied. "I'm a walking mutation."

Gilbert wore a small smirk, but the air of indignation that seemed to consume the other boy wasn't lost on Alfred. "When I first moved here from Germany, I was this seven year old foreign kid with a funny accent and my English was shit. Which was fine 'cause see, I wasn't the only foreign kid in school with shitty English," he said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "But take a funny speakin' foreign kid with terrible English and make him an albino." He laughed bitterly. "Forget everyone else—not even the other ESL kids wanted to be around me. Thought they'd all turn into a 'demon' like me if they got too close."

Gilbert smiled wryly, his expression a conflicting mixture of amusement and contempt. "This kid in my fifth grade math class spread a rumor that I was a cannibal." He laughed again, only because the action seemed to distract him from how heavy his chest had become. As prideful as Gilbert was of everything that made him who he was, including his albinism, it hadn't always been so. And as memories of his childhood years spent longing for others' approval began to resurface, he found himself disgusted, spiteful. But he still couldn't keep that cynical smile at bay. "Can you fucking believe that?" 

The look on Alfred's face told Gilbert that, no, he couldn't. And now that Gilbert was saying it aloud, he couldn't either.

"I'd never say that I know what it feels like to be in Matthew's shoes. But I know what it feels like to have people treat you like you aren't just as human as they are. Like you can't feel like they feel. It...it fucks you up." Gilbert looked as if he wanted to say something more, so Alfred kept quiet, all the while astonished at hearing Gilbert speak so candidly. "A few weeks ago, Matthew was telling me about this book he'd been looking for. Said he thought it might be at the public library, but wasn't sure how to get there. Lutz practically lives in there during exams, so I knew where it was. Of course I was gonna take him there, I didn't even think twice about it."

"I remember that..." Alfred found himself smiling. "That day he came home a little late with a shit ton of books." Alfred could still remember the way Matthew stumbled inside looking absolutely smitten, a few short honks echoing at his back as he closed the door behind him. And all Alfred could begrudgingly think was: _Beilschmidt, you smooth motherfucker_.

"Yeah. I knew he wasn't gonna leave with just one, the nerd," he laughed, smile fleeting. "When we were pulling into the lot, he comes outta nowhere saying he's sorry. Told me he was trying to get used to using the buses to get around the city, so people wouldn't need to drive him places. Said he would pay for gas and that he wouldn't take long...even told me I didn't have to go inside with him." Gilbert could feel that heaviness in his chest returning, and god, what he wouldn't give to have Matthew's airy laughter take it away. He swallowed thickly, continuing. "Then he jokes and says I must be sick of dragging him around everywhere." The way Alfred's face fell made Gilbert look away, because those knowing eyes confirmed for him that Matthew's words weren't the first of its kind.

When Gilbert first met Matthew, the then timid boy apologized for everything. Gilbert would forget his novel and _Matthew_ would apologize for his book being in braille. Or Gilbert would make the two late for class and _Matthew_ would apologize for being "too slow." Nothing was his fault, everything was Matthew's. The look of guilt Matthew would get on his face was unbearable, and Gilbert couldn't tell him to cut it out fast enough.

The change wasn't immediate, but soon Gilbert found Matthew scolding him where necessary, hounding him to do his homework and shushing him in the middle of class. And Gilbert loved it. He loved to see Matthew's personality begin to shine, to watch him grow more comfortable, more bold in his company. Matthew couldn't possibly know how quickly he'd charmed his way into Gilbert's heart, and Gilbert was reminded everyday of how shamelessly hard he'd fallen. But hearing Matthew's words in the car that Friday afternoon stopped him cold. 

Gilbert took a deep breath, aware of how quickly his heart was beating. "Hearing him say stuff like that...I hate it. I hate that he still feels like he's some kinda burden on me. Because it's not true. And I know he thinks that because that's how all these other people look at him, avoiding him the way they do, like they don't wanna deal with him. I see it too, Alfred. I see what they do to him." Gilbert suddenly abandoned English for a second time, but Alfred didn't need to know German to understand the exasperation laced throughout his features.

"They might be fine with treating Mattie like he doesn't exist, but I'd be in the ground before I _ever_ make him feel like he isn't the best damn thing on the planet."

Alfred felt the tension in his body vanish as Gilbert spoke. It was the first time he'd heard anyone so precisely describe the storm of emotions that tore through him each time he was reminded of how his brother was viewed by the rest of the world. Anger. Resentment. Disgust. He had long been convinced that no one else would ever be able to understand why Alfred was as protective over Matthew as he was, not even Matthew himself. 

But Gilbert continued to prove him wrong.

"Mattie's _never_ been a burden on me. I never do anything I do with him because I have to...I do it because I _want_ to," Gilbert said, looking Alfred straight in the eye despite how vulnerable he was feeling. He remembered how stunned Matthew had looked sitting in the passenger seat, his hand frozen on the door as he listened to Gilbert say these exact words. The tender smile he was graced with stole the air straight from his lungs, and it was all Gilbert could do not to lean over and just...

"There you go." Alfred flashed an earnest smile. "Bein' all likable again, dammit." The more and more Gilbert spoke, the more Alfred was convinced that Gilbert's "just a little more than that" was exactly _that_.

Gilbert gave a light shrug, smirking. "C'mon, Al, look at who you're talking to," he teased, Alfred laughing at how his self-proclaimed Awesomeness appeared to be making a comeback. Although Alfred was more than impressed with Gilbert's sincerity, he'd almost begun to wonder if the other had been replaced by a clone. Apparently Gilbert could get serious when he wanted to. Not unlike Alfred himself.

"I was _this_ close to quitting the team, y'know." Alfred illustrated just how close "this" was with his fingers.

"What?" Red eyes narrowed in disbelief. "Wrestling?" Alfred was captain for Christ's sake, a bonafide jock. 

Alfred nodded. “Just so I could spend more time with Mattie. Because I knew how miserable he was, even though he tried so hard to hide it from me. He thinks I don't notice, but I do. I know him better than anyone. I mean...that's my job. To make sure he's ok." He suddenly went silent, pushing back old memories of just how fragile Matthew used to be. "So, I was gonna quit. Ivan would take my place as captain. I had it all figured out. But then, the day before I planned to talk with Coach, Mattie spent the whole walk home talking about _you_.”

Gilbert couldn’t help the way his body tensed as Alfred locked eyes with him again. “Me?”

Alfred broke into a smile, chuckling at the way the other's face flared right back up. “Yeah, you. Gilbert this and Gilbert that, somethin’ about a club you invited him to.”

“O-Oh. Yeah.” Gilbert cringed inwardly at how stupid that whole stunt was in hindsight. It seemed like ages ago now that he thought about it, and he smiled as he remembered the first time he and Matthew spoke.

“I don’t remember much of what he was saying, but I’ll never forget how happy he was. God...he was so happy. He just wouldn’t stop smiling. I mean, even yesterday, he went on and on about these potato pancake thingies he ate at your place last week.”

“ _Kartoffelpuffer_ ,” Gilbert said softly, flush deepening as he remembered how poorly and yet adorably Matthew had pronounced it. 

“Yeah, the cart-awful thingies, that’s it." Gilbert cringed again.

Just as poor.

Nowhere near adorable.

"Look,” Alfred said, leaning forward on the table, “he likes you, dude. I hear him talk about you enough to know.” And it was in that moment of Alfred’s casual admission that Gilbert felt as if his heart had exploded in his chest.

"He—" Gilbert stumbled out of the booth to follow after Alfred, who had started heading for the exit. "You said he—"

"Likes you, yep. You think I'd waste time calling you out here if he didn't?" Alfred grinned, clapping Gilbert on the shoulder. "What you do with that information is all up to you, but I'll tell you this. I’ve seen the way you are with my brother, and I know I can trust you. Even the Vargas twins, Toni and your brother—it’s been forever since I’ve made friends with people who’re so comfortable around him. I'd be lying if I said that wasn't just as important to me." Alfred extended a hand, his next words just as much a warning as they were a blessing. "I’m trusting you to take care of him, Gilbert."

Gilbert looked down at Alfred’s outstretched hand, gripping it tightly and giving it a firm shake. “You know I will. That's a promise.”

And it was right then and there that Gilbert knew. His words would mean nothing if they never reached Matthew's ears.

###### 

Of all the ways Matthew had expected to spend New Year's Eve, explaining to his brother why he had a secret stash of condoms certainly wasn't one of them. But there he was. Standing in the middle of his room, frozen under Alfred's gaze, a box of Trojans falling to the floor at his feet. Matthew had never in his life wanted to fade from existence more than he did in that very moment he heard Alfred swing open his door, his heart all but slamming to a halt. He'd intended to ask Matthew if he was ready, but just as soon as his mouth parted the words died on his lips. His eyes darted from his brother's blanched face to the condoms now littering his floor, and then once more to his brother, his mouth still agape. He looked down again just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. And he wasn't.

"Well, shit."

And like fuel to a waning fire, Matthew's face reddened just as quickly as it had paled, the boy groaning as he slowly lowered himself to his knees. "Stop thinking what you're thinking. Papa left them in my nightstand," he mumbled, still irritated that his father insisted on leaving him these little "gifts." This was the _third_ find this month! He scrambled to return the contents to their box, managing to shove the obnoxiously colored packets inside before Alfred plucked the box straight from his hands. He felt like dying.

"Oh my god," Alfred snickered as Matthew slowly rose from the floor. "Did you know these were flavored, Matt?"

"Oh yeah, sure, Al! Because I go around tasting condoms," Matthew retorted sarcastically, his usual defense mechanism against his brother's stupidity. Alfred snorted at the way Matthew crossed his arms at his chest, indignant.

"But Matt." Alfred peered inside the little box. Oh shit, was that one _Cola_ flavored? "They're _open_."

"They are not!"

"The box, I mean."

"So?" Matthew flushed. "These aren't _real_ , remember?" he added dryly, placing an index finger at the outer corner of each eye. "I couldn't even tell what they were until I opened the damn thing..."

"I'm just kiddin' with you, bro," he chuckled and clapped Matthew's back. He grinned nostalgically, plopping himself at the foot of Matthew's bed. "Pops gave me a box a while ago too."

Matthew seemed to relax a bit at hearing that, his arms falling to his sides. "He did?"

"Yup. Found 'em just sitting in the top of my closet. Mine weren't flavored though," he pouted.

"How many did Papa leave you?"

Alfred shrugged. "I dunno, it was a box of, like, ten."

Matthew licked his lips and adjusted the scarf at his neck, the room suddenly a bit too warm. "So he...left you just one box?"

"Yeah...?" He stared at the other, confused. "Why?" Matthew's face grew a shade deeper, but he said nothing, Alfred's eyes following him as he walked over to his dresser. Slowly, Matthew opened the very bottom drawer, pushing aside socks and shirts before pulling out a small Ziplock bag. Full of condoms.

Alfred's eyes widened when Matthew turned around. "Holy shit, you have more?"

"Just take them," Matthew groaned, tossing the bag in Alfred's direction. Alfred leaned over to accommodate Matthew's poor aim and caught it, gawking at how many were inside and wondering if his old man was in his right mind.

"There's like 20 in here, Matt! Why the hell did he give you so many?"

"I dunno, ask Papa!" he huffed. "I just kept finding them all over my room! Under my pillow, in my laundry basket—I just found this box today! I don't even know how long it's been sitting in here..."

Alfred's lips had begun to tremble with suppressed laughter as Matthew became more frantic, flailing his arms about. But the sudden realization that his father was basically the Condom Fairy was too much for him to take. Matthew jumped as his brother burst into fittingly obnoxious laughter. "Under your _pillow_?"

Matthew waved dismissively and hurried to his closet. "Just shut up and take them," he said, pulling out his heaviest coat.

"You sure you don't wanna keep a couple?" he teased.

"Are you suggesting I have sex with Gilbert?"

It was so blunt that Alfred literally flinched. "What! No!"

"You're right, Al." His eyes seemed to settle on Alfred from over his shoulder. "On second thought, I'll take those back."

Alfred glared and clutched the bag to his chest like the ring Gollum loved so dearly. "Nope, they're mine, too late."

Matthew smirked and slipped on his parka. "Thought so."

"Mattie, don't say stuff like that!" Alfred whined, not the least bit comforted by the way Matthew rolled his eyes. 

Matthew shrugged, casually zipping up his coat. "You started it."

"Yeah, but shit, Matt, you waited _three_ months just to tell me you liked the guy, and now you're using 'sex' and 'Gilbert' in the same sentence?" He brought a hand to claw dramatically at his chest. "Do you _want_ me to have a heart attack?"

"Oh shut up," he huffed, beginning to regret he'd said anything at all. "You're just mad your stupid joke backfired on you."

"Whatever," Alfred said with a pout. "I'm gonna forget I ever heard you say that."

"Good," he said, smiling triumphantly, "then we're even."

Alfred stuck out a tongue that Matthew couldn't see, rising to his feet with his salacious new goodies. With a quick glance at his watch, he noted it was nearly half past seven. "The car should be warmed up by now, so I'll be waiting out front. I'll call Ivan and let him know we're on our way." He really hoped Kat would be the one to answer the door this time around. He didn't think he could survive another one of Natalya's death glares.

"Wait," Matthew called out as the other neared the door. He turned around, curious at the way Matthew hesitated, his mouth opening and then closing again. Matthew adjusted his scarf a second time, eyes falling to the floor. With a gentle sigh he pushed a few strands of hair behind his ear. "Do..." He faced Alfred. "Do I look alright?"

And Alfred could have died happily right then and there, the image of his blushing little brother forever seared into his brain. From crude sexual humor to the modesty of a nun in mere seconds—only Matthew could make it seem like the most normal thing on earth. He smiled at his brother with a tenderness that reached his eyes, his chest swelling with an emotion that he couldn't quite identify. Something happy. Something sad. Something...bittersweet. Because despite having long prepared himself for this, he was still coming to terms with the fact that, after tonight, he would no longer be the only one to look after his brother. And dammit if that wasn't frightening. And yet, the look in Gilbert's eyes, the firm grip of his hand, had been reassuring. 

"Mattie," he chuckled softly, "did you forget you made Dad and Pops cry?"

Matthew gave a small, sheepish smile. He really hadn't expected his parents to react the way they did when he'd gone downstairs to see them off on their date for the evening, feeling strangely accomplished with having not put his bow tie on crooked. (Alfred had told him so). His parents' conversation had stopped abruptly as he entered the kitchen, his dress shoes clicking against the white tile floor. And just before he began to ask what was wrong, Arthur spoke.

He hadn't been prepared for the way Arthur's voice had sounded when it reached his ears, quivering as he spoke Matthew's name. He hadn't been prepared for the way Francis followed suit, for the way they gushed and prattled and told him that they loved him, that they were proud of him, that they wanted him to enjoy himself tonight. And he certainly hadn't anticipated how many photos his parents would take, nor how fun it would be, especially with Alfred beside him pulling his obnoxious poses.

"Are you nervous?"

"No," he hurriedly replied, licking his lips. "I just..."

Alfred's hand left the doorknob, recognizing that that was his cue, and he sat himself at Matthew's computer desk. "That wasn't all that convincing," he said, a knowing smile on his face. "You wanna try again?"

Matthew sighed defeatedly, plopping himself at the foot of his bed. "Yeah...I am."

"He's still gonna be the same Gilbert, Matt," he said, voice soft, encouraging. "The same dorky guy you've been hanging out with since the first week of school. You liking him isn't gonna change that. What's there to be nervous about?"

"But, Al, it's not just me liking him that makes me nervous. It's him liking me _back_." He went to push a tendril of hair behind his ear in his nervousness, feeling silly when he realized it was already in place. "I didn't even know he liked me until three days ago," he said, face tingling as he said it aloud. 

Gilbert... _liked_ him. Gilbert liked _him_. The thought had butterflies flooding his stomach.

"All this time I've been telling myself that I'm happy just being his friend, a-and I am, I really am. But now that I know I'm not the only one with...these feelings, I..." He hesitated, finding it difficult to put all of the emotions he'd experienced in the past 72 hours into words. "I don't want to keep them a secret anymore. I want him to know too."

Alfred smiled, using the following silence as an opportunity to be more direct. "You wanna tell him."

Matthew nodded. "I really, _really_ like him, Al," he said in a near whisper. 

And Alfred was taken aback. Not because of what his brother had said, but because of _how_ he'd said it. Because Matthew's "really really" was sounding exactly like Gilbert's "a little more than that." 

"But I don't know how I should—o-or when I should—" He sighed again. "I'm just not even sure how I should act."

Before, when Matthew had just accepted that he had a crush on his best friend, and that Gilbert would never see him as anything more than that, it was easier. But now, he was convinced that he wouldn't even be able to think straight when he met with Gilbert again that night. Because all he would be able to think about was the fact that within the sensation of his every touch, or woven into the sounds of his mischievous laughter, were the same feelings that Matthew had intended to keep hidden for the rest of his natural born life. And it was exciting.

And it was scary.

"Matthew, you don't have to do anything special. Just be you, dude," he said, giving Matthew a little nudge to his shoulder. "He didn't start liking you because you put on some act, y'know. As for telling him how you feel, don't feel like you have to rush into it. It'll come naturally. Trust me."

Matthew hummed thoughtfully and leaned back on his bed, tilting his head back to face the ceiling. "Is that how it was for you and Ivan?" he asked, referring to he and the Russian becoming an official item two months back. He still smiled when he thought of the day Alfred had come into his room and planted himself face-first into Matthew's bed, groaning about how that "sexy Russian bastard" was now his "sexy Russian boyfriend." Much to Matthew's delight, of course; they'd been acting like an old married couple since the day they'd met.

Alfred blushed, rubbing at his neck. Welp. It _was_ a solid question. "Well, yeah. I mean, even though we were both just in it for the sex at first, we...well, we realized we wanted more than that. It's not something that we planned, y'know, it just...happened. And when it's about to happen, you just..." 

It was the feel of Ivan's broad chest rising and falling as he slept. The sound of his breathing. The scent of his skin. The way he had looked at Alfred when he woke that morning, how those deep pools of blue had made him feel like he was the most precious thing on earth. How he had pulled Alfred into his arms and made him wish he could spend the rest of his life between those sheets. That was when it happened. 

"You just know." Alfred's flush deepened as he listened to himself speak. Wow, he was really shit at this, wasn't he? "What I'm trying to say is, based on experience, you don't make it happen. It happens to you. Don't stress yourself out over this, alright?" he said, relieved when he was rewarded with not only a smile, but a laugh too.

"I didn't take you for the poetic type." Matthew straightened himself, his smile widening. "But you're right. I'm overthinking it." 

Alfred nodded. "It's New Year's Eve, Mattie. The only thing you should be worried about is having fun tonight."

Matthew nodded and stood from his bed with a renewed confidence, slipping a hand into his pocket and bringing out a small envelope. "Call me Avy."

Alfred grinned, hopping to his feet. "Now that's what I like to—oof!" He was stunned silent as Matthew hugged him. And dammit if his heart didn't feel like it was becoming too big for his chest.

"Thanks, Al."

"Yeah," he said as he brought his arms around his brother, the word wavering slightly as it left his tightened throat. "Anytime, bro."


	10. Fonder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the length of this update doesn't bother anyone too much; compared to the others, this one is pretty meaty. I guess whether that's good or bad depends on what kind of reader you are, but nevertheless, I hope you'll enjoy. It's the first climax!

⠠⠋⠕⠝⠙⠑⠗

"You ready to see a murder tonight, Ludchen?"

Ludwig grimaced at the feel of his brother's breath so close to his ear, Gilbert effectively bursting the bubble that was his personal space. He rolled his eyes as his hands glided across the steering wheel, letting off the gas as they passed through a residential area. "As long as I'm not the one doing it," he answered.

"Nah," Gilbert snickered, settling back in his seat. "You're a hitman, Lutz. That's too cliche."

Feliciano giggled from the passenger seat, chest bubbling with excitement. "But we don't know who Luddy works for. Maybe he _is_ the killer technically, but one of us hired him to do it. That would make one of us the _real_ killer, wouldn't it?"

Gilbert hummed thoughtfully, smirking with amusement. "Damn, I'd never even thought of that. Good shit."

"And what about you, _Bruder_?" Ludwig said, glancing up at his brother's reflection through the rear view mirror. Even he couldn't stop the small smile that came to his face, the uncertain course of that night's events becoming more intriguing than he'd care to admit. "Do you believe you are completely innocent?"

Gilbert laughed, waving a dismissive hand. "I'm a kickass lawyer; I solve murders, not commit them."

he

"While that may be true, you are a defense attorney."

"A _world renowned_ defense attorney," he corrected. "And I haven't lost a case once in my entire career." He flashed a smug grin.

"And who's to say those cases were fairly won?"

"What?"

"Defense attorneys aren't exactly the most honest players in the courtroom." Ludwig locked eyes again with Gilbert's reflection, and the smile on the other's face dropped. "In fact, some in the profession have been known to go to any extremes necessary to ensure the acquittal of their clients. Are we supposed to believe that a prestigious lawyer with a record to maintain wouldn't do the same?"

"Oooh, a corrupt lawyer!" Feliciano clapped his hands together in delight. "Maybe the victim is a threat to one of Gil's cases, so he kills them to keep the truth from getting out."

"It's plausible." In the corner of his vision, Ludwig could see the way Feliciano perked up at his accord, and he smiled, amused by his growing obsession with the unknown culprit. He briefly wondered if he should remind Feliciano that this was merely play, but decided against it because, well, his energy was oddly adorable. But then again, when was Feliciano not?

A crooked smirk worked its way across Gilbert's face, and he threw an arm around the back of Ludwig's headrest. Fictitious as it all was, Gilbert still had a reputation to protect. "You sure about that?" he asked, eyes playful. "Or are you just trying to distract us from the person that hired you?"

The brother at the wheel ignored the other's closeness this time around, not missing a beat as he responded with, "Are you positive that it wasn't _you_ who hired me?"

Gilbert's smile only widened and he barked out a laugh, having not expected much more than one of Ludwig's classic eye rolls. His straight-laced little brother was obviously beginning to enjoy this, and hell, so was Gilbert, although he'd initially found the murder mystery theme a bit cheesy. "If anything, Feli's the murder."

"What! I would never murder anyone!"

Gilbert smirked and shook his head, his tone chastising. "Oh, come on. A middle-aged ex-con turned school librarian? I'm supposed to believe that?"

Oh. Right. Feliciano blushed. He was Alman Acks tonight, a 40 year old university librarian, not Feliciano Vargas. This was all starting to feel a little too real. And that made it all the more fun.

“But I’ve changed! I’m a good guy now! 15 years is a long time, you know,” Feliciano said with a pout.

“Pfft. So, you’ve turned over a new leaf, huh?” Feliciano nodded vigorously. “Ever heard of a cover-up job?”

The brunette’s eyebrows rose as he considered Gilbert’s theory, and he tilted his head helplessly to the side, laughing weakly. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see then."

Ludwig took a sharp right as prompted by his GPS, veering into a short path of heavily forested road. The severe lack of street lights was a little unnerving, and he reduced his speed to accommodate his worsening eyesight. As he began to ask Feliciano if he was sure they were headed in the right direction, he found his answer in what appeared at the end of the road, standing tall under the high-beam glow of his headlights.

“We’re here!”

Ludwig’s mouth fell open. Feliciano hadn't been exaggerating at all. Their host's house _was_ "reeeeally nice." It was so nice, in fact, that it had its own gate surrounding it, barring entry to those who were not welcome on the property.

" _Von wegen..._ " Gilbert scrambled to get a better look out the window. " _Wohnt er hier? Nee, oder?_ "

Feliciano nodded. "Yep, this is his place. Well, in summer anyway." He smiled sheepishly when the two of them stared back at him blankly, prompting him to elaborate. "He stays here with his grandparents when they come here on vacation from Poland."

Ludwig, or Wesson N. Smith as he would also be known for the night, let off the gas as the house grew nearer, too stunned to really say anything more than, "I see..."

Gilbert blinked a few times. Yep. That was a fucking mansion. Feliks Łukasiewicz was hosting this thing in a fucking mansion. Feliks was a damn classy dude, but Gilbert would have never imagined that they'd be pulling up to something like this. The mere sight of it was almost intimidating. Bricks of the richest and creamiest white, more windows than Gilbert could count, and columns that looked as if they'd been stolen from the Pantheon itself. It appeared to glow from the inside out, windows lit orange as silhouettes mingled throughout the house.

Gilbert narrowed his eyes at the back of Feliciano's head, curious. "How are you not freaking out right now?"

"Because I helped plan the party," he said, so casually that Ludwig thought he'd heard wrong. "I've been here twice already." 

"Twice?"

He smiled, tongue poking through his lips in Ludwig's direction. "And you say I'm no good at keeping secrets."

"Yeah," Gilbert said, still staring the house down, "this is a huge ass secret."

"I was pretty surprised when I found out too," Feliciano laughed. "But I can understand why he didn't mention it outright. It would've attracted too much attention, and he only wanted to invite people who he knew would respect his grandparent's home."

It made Feliciano warm and fuzzy to think about the fact that he was one of those fifty guests, his friendship with Feliks born from a mutual love of art. It had been over a year ago when Feliks came bursting through the art room one day after school, pleading for someone, anyone who could paint a landscape for the backdrop of an upcoming play. The original artist had "totally bailed" and the play was next week, he'd explained, promising free tickets and refreshments to the kind soul who'd be up to the task. Feliciano loved painting landscapes, and his rainbow-stained hand had shot up even before the panicked drama kid had finished speaking.

Feliks had been so happy that he hugged Feliciano right then and there, ignoring Feliciano's cries about getting his nice clothes dirty with paint. Feliciano discovered that he quite liked working with large scale art and lent his talents to the drama club full time, where he and Feliks became good friends. The fact that he and Ludwig's most recent date was spent in the front row of an after-school showing of the Nutcracker had been a welcome bonus.

"Ja, that makes sense," Gilbert replied. "But this is just..."

"Unexpected," Ludwig finished for him.

"Well, I told you it was nice, didn't I?" Feliciano giggled.

"So you know what's going down tonight?" Gilbert asked.

"No, no," he insisted. "I'm just as clueless as everyone else. I only helped with decorations. I didn't even know we'd be getting new identities!"

Gilbert looked out of the window again as Ludwig stopped some feet away from the gate, gaping at the house as if it were a mirage that would vanish once they reached its steps. As his eyes fell from the snow-dusted rooftops to the double wide French doors in front, he let loose a low whistle of fascination. And to think he’d been going to wear jeans and a simple sweater. Good thing he’d actually read the invitation.

He was startled when he'd spotted the word "cocktail" on his invitation, unsure about what exactly he should wear to what he thought would be an average house party. The fancy lettering and high quality cardstock paper should've given it away, really, but Gilbert had just assumed that Feliks was just being Feliks, all preppy and artsy and shit. Through his fogged over window he watched a girl in a shimmery dress and heels hurry through the doors to escape the cold, and suddenly he didn't feel so overdressed. He peered into the rear view mirror and smoothed at his tie before glancing down at the oxfords on his feet, grinning at his fine polishing work.

The last time Gilbert had been so dressed up he was a mere thirteen, following alongside his fancy diplomat father in a suit he hated, to have dinner with some frumpy old German politician he couldn't give a shit about. The clothes had felt awkward and stiff on his adolescent body, and he'd wriggled straight out of them as soon as the opportunity provided itself, vowing never again to subject himself to such torture. But this time was different.

His shoulders, no longer scrawny, filled out his jacket perfectly, and his belt sat comfortably snug at his waist, pants flush and crisp against his legs as if they'd been cut just for him. And damn did he feel great. Sitting back in his seat, he smiled to himself, wondering what Matthew would look like tonight. Wondering if Matthew had spent as much time as he had trying on and tearing off clothes until he finally found an outfit that he felt was worthy. And then he felt his face grow warm. Because he was thinking about Matthew. Again.

He couldn't help the way his pale fingers drummed against the door handle, itching to get inside and see the boy who'd made him wish that the hands on his watch would tick faster, made him wish that the sun would set sooner, that night would fall quickly and the snow would have mercy on them as they took to the road, if only to bring him that much closer to Matthew. Gilbert leaned back against his head rest as his cheeks grew warmer, closing his eyes in silent acceptance.

Love. So that's what this was, huh?

His eyes fluttered open as a thought came to him, and he sat upright in his seat. He pulled out his phone from his pocket and had the strong urge to kiss it, because it was the reason why he hadn't lost his sanity yet. The past ten days of winter break had also meant spending the last ten days without seeing Matthew, and Gilbert would have been lying if he'd said he wasn't experiencing slight (major) withdrawals.

He began scrolling through a conversation he and Matthew had earlier that night, lips curling into a small smile. Matthew didn't text often (it was annoying to listen to the alphabet every time he typed, he'd said, and awkward to use voice-to-text when it only worked half the time), so on the rare occasions when he did, and on the extremely rare occasions when it was more than just a sentence or two, Gilbert felt positively spoiled.

> **[5:11] Lawen Order? That's your name? Seriously?**
> 
> [5:12] Fucking awesome isn't it?
> 
> **[5:13] It's terrible**
> 
> [5:14] Wow way to be an asshole Mattie
> 
> [5:14] Don't come crying to me when you need a badass attorney to save your ass
> 
> **[5:16] I'm a birdwatcher...I doubt I'll be needing your badass services**
> 
> [5:17] Ok what that's actually really cute
> 
> **[5:18] It's boring!**
> 
> [5:18] No that's so fucking cute end of discussion
> 
> **[5:20] But I wanted to be something pool**
> 
> [5:22] Yeah I'm pretty sure you didn't wanna be a pool Mattie
> 
> **[5:24] I mint cool**
> 
> [5:25] Mint? Yeah i guess mints are pretty cool
> 
> **[5:26] Gil I meant meant!**
> 
> [5:27] Wow you must've really meant it if you said it twice
> 
> **[5:29] Oh my god I hate you**
> 
> [5:31] But Mattie your voice typos are so damn cute can you blame me?
> 
> **[5:32] No...I blame Siri. But that last one wasn't a typo!**
> 
> [5:32] I know
> 
> [5:32] Immer noch süß >:D
> 
> **[5:33] You know she can't read me German Gil :/**
> 
> [5:34] Nothing you haven't heard before
> 
> [5:34] Please continue
> 
> **[5:35] With the "cute" typos or our current topic?**
> 
> [5:36] Both preferably
> 
> **[5:36] You're ridiculous**
> 
> [5:37] Don't act like you don't love it
> 
> **[5:39] Who's acting?**
> 
> [5:40] I know when my clients are lying to me Matthew
> 
> **[5:42] Yeah well**
> 
> **[5:42] I know 45 different bird calls :/**
> 
> [5:45] Oh my god thats fucking adorable
> 
> **[5:47] You wouldn't say that if I was a safecracker or a drug lord or something >:(**
> 
> [5:48] Nah I probably would. You'd just make those cute too tbh
> 
> **[5:50] Gilbert!**
> 
> [5:51] Hey I'm just sayin
> 
> [5:51] So what's your name anyway?
> 
> [6:00] Mattie?
> 
> **[6:02] Sorry I was getting a snack**
> 
> [6:03] Wow
> 
> [6:03] And you said my name was bad
> 
> **[6:05] I hate that I'm laughing**
> 
> **[6:05] That wasn’t even that funny**
> 
> [6:07] Yeah keep telling yourself that >:D where’s my reward for making you laugh? 
> 
> [6:08] A name would be awesome
> 
> **[6:09] I'll tell you later**
> 
> [6:10] Why later?
> 
> **[6:12] Because it's even worse than yours...**
> 
> [6:13] Seriously? What is it?
> 
> **[6:15] You’ll find out tonight**
> 
> [6:16] Mattie pls I'm too awesome for this suspense shit
> 
> **[6:18] But apparently not too awesome to beg :)**
> 
> [6:19] Did you just
> 
> [6:20] You smug little shit
> 
> **[6:20] :)**
> 
> **[6:21] I learned from the best didn’t I?**
> 
> [6:22] Damn right you did
> 
> [6:22] Now tell me your name
> 
> [6:22] It’s gotta be cute Mattie I mean come on
> 
> [6:23] You’re a BIRDWATCHER
> 
> **[6:25] Tonight!**
> 
> [6:27] If this isn’t the most embarrassing name I hear tonight then I’ve got a shit ton of bad jokes with your name on it
> 
> **[6:29] Deal!**
> 
> **[6:30] I’ll see you soon Gil :)**
> 
> [6:30] Later Mattie

"Are you going to call him?"

Gilbert's eyes snapped up to see Feliciano looking right back at him, wearing a smile that was too sweet to be taken as anything other than trouble. "W-What?"

"You look like you want to." The brunette laughed at the way his friend flushed, shrugging his shoulders like a child caught with cookie crumbs at the corners of his mouth. "You can do more with your phone than just smile at it, silly."

Ludwig was preoccupied with finding exactly where they should enter, but he found himself fighting back a smile while he circled the gate's perimeter, listening to his boyfriend pester his brother.

"I wasn't—" the way Feliciano's lips quirked at one corner let Gilbert know that the sentence wasn't worth finishing. "Ah, fuck it," he sighed. "I'm excited, alright? Sue me." The smile he wore was unusually subdued, a modest tugging of his lips as he glanced out the window. Again, he looked down at his phone, thumb gliding over the dimly-lit screen. Why was he hesitating? It wasn't like it was the first time he'd be dialing Matthew's number. So why were his palms so sweaty?

"Sooo?"

"So what?"

"Why don't you give him a call?" Feliciano eyed the phone in Gilbert's hand, entirely too invested in his next moves. He really just wanted to eavesdrop. "Don't you want to?"

Gilbert gulped. _Hell_ fucking yeah, he did. But as much as Gilbert hated to admit it, he was in uncharted territory. A simple phone call wasn't a simple phone call anymore when he was _in fucking love_ with the person on the other end. It wasn't just a phone call anymore when he knew that other person had feelings for him too. When he didn't know if those feelings were as strong as his own. It didn't help that Feliciano was staring at him like that either.

"I could dial for you," he teased.

"Yeah." Gilbert smirked, shoving his phone away and out of sight. "And you could put my balls in keepsake jar while you're at it."

"Hm?" Feliciano frowned. "Balls?" But as soon as he'd said it out loud it clicked. He pouted at Gilbert's reflection.

Ludwig rolled his eyes as Gilbert cackled, rolling down the window as he came to a stop in front of the gate's entrance. He leaned slightly out the open window and pressed the buzzer, jumping as a voice answered almost immediately.

“State your purpose,” came a voice, detached and startlingly cold.

"A-Ah, yes. We're here for the—"

"Read the back of your invitation, Lutz. We're not gettin' in otherwise."

"Oh," he said, clearing his throat. “Right.” He took the invitation he'd received two weeks ago from his pocket, flipping it over to reveal a single phrase. Leaning outside again, he read the words aloud, feeling a bit silly as they left his mouth. "We want to know whodunit." He stiffened at the sudden sensation of Feliciano's hand on his thigh, the brunette leaning into him to shout through the window.

"Hi, Feliks!"

"Feli!" The sudden squeal of glee spilling from the speaker left both Ludwig and Gilbert dumbfounded.

"Uh huh, it's me!"

“Geez, you went and made me break character!” he huffed, the sound followed by more laughter. “How was I?”

“Are you kidding? That was amazing!” Feliciano cried. There was a reason why Feliks was always snagging the lead roles. “You should see Lud and Gil’s faces,” he snickered. “They had no idea.”

"Tell your boyfriend he gets bonus points for the most awkwardly cute 'whodunit' I've heard all night. Like, seriously."

Gilbert snorted from the back and Feliciano giggled quietly, enjoying the way Ludwig's face was changing color. "Where should we park?"

While Feliks and Feliciano prattled on about the latest theatre gossip between parking directions, Gilbert's cell found its way into his hands again. He sent out one last text, heart leaping as he hit send.

> [8:03] I really can’t wait to see you.

###### 

"Oh, look, here's one for you!"

Lovino stared at his boyfriend as he dug through a box of cheesy photo booth props, grinning like he'd struck gold. He looked so damn ridiculous wearing those tacky New Years glasses, loaded with so much glitter that he could see gold specks fill the air every time Antonio moved. But with the way that vest was hugging his torso...Lovino allowed his eyes to wander freely. _Fuck _, who was he kidding? Antonio could break into jumping jacks right then and there and Lovino would still want to kneel between his legs. The bastard.__

"Here, try this one!" Lovino grimaced as Antonio held out a stick prop, a paper mustache on the end. What the fuck did a mustache have to do with the new year?

"No."

"Aw, c'mon," Antonio pouted. "It's real easy to use, see? You just hold it up like this." He positioned the fake mustache just below his nose. And before Lovino could catch himself, he snorted.

"You like it," Antonio beamed. And Lovino really wished he'd stop talking with that ugly thing against his face.

" _No_ ," he said again, hiding the way his lips trembled with his hand. "I'm not wearing that cheesy shit."

"Ayyy Lovino," he whined, "It's a photo booth. The stuff's supposed to be silly."

"I know that," he grumbled, arms crossed at his chest. Antonio's hands came to rest on his elbows, slowly unfolding his arms until Lovino's hands were in his own. And then he gave Lovino that damn look. That look that made his cheeks flare. Those soft eyes that made his breath catch and his legs feel like jello.

"I just want to see you have fun, _corazón_."

God fucking _damn_ him, Lovino thought, feeling himself melt from the inside out. He looked down, his face growing darker, eyes landing on the box full of props on the table beside them. How the hell could he say no to that?

"What's that green thing?" he mumbled, prompting Antonio to follow his gaze. Antonio reached into the box and pulled it out. A masquerade mask. He looked at his boyfriend, hopeful.

"Alright," Lovino sighed, taking the mask from his hand. "Anything but that stupid mustache."

He'd barely had time to put the mask on before Antonio was dragging him toward the booth in the corner of the room, and Lovino couldn't even be mad because the smile on Antonio's face was compensation enough. Once the two had huddled inside, closing the curtain behind them, Lovino sat back while Antonio fiddled with the settings on the screen, wondering when the hell photo booths had gotten so damn complicated. It took him a moment to realize that the other was staring at him. He may have missed a breath when Antonio smiled at him, but no one but him had to know that.

"What?"

"Nothing," he said, eyes half-lidded. "I'm just admiring how cute you look in that mask."

Lovino flushed, tearing his eyes away from Antonio's lest he find himself unable to do anything else. "Just press the damn button already," he said, his voice not nearly as harsh at his words would suggest. He felt the beginnings of a smile on his lips at the sound of the other's laughter in his ear, and did nothing to stop the arm that came around his waist once the timer had started counting down. And suddenly, the mustache made a comeback. In one swift motion, Antonio had the prop against his face just as before, and what happened next, well, he couldn't have wished for anything more.

Lovino couldn't help himself, bursting into laughter at the sight. "You idiot! W-Why did you bring that in here?”

“Because I noticed how much you liked it,” he answered, pulling Lovino into his lap.

“Toni, s-stop, it's—" his words were lost in more laughter. "I-It's taking pictures!"

"Is it?" He chuckled, burying his face into the crook of Lovino's neck, lips curling into a smile against that ticklish spot that only Antonio knew where to find. It was amazing. To feel the vibrations of his warm laughter. To feel it seep into his skin, dance along his eardrums. His softened gaze caressed the contours of Lovino’s face, flushed the color of sun-ripened tomatoes, and Antonio wondered what on earth he had done to deserve someone so beautiful.

"Damn you," he sighed, smiling as he caught his breath.

He was answered with a nose nuzzling against his neck, and Lovino turned slightly, yanking on the other’s neck tie to capture his lips in a soft kiss, a gentle melding of lips that made every muscle in Antonio’s body go slack. His shoulders slumped, and his hands fell to Lovino's hips as one kiss became two, two became three, until suddenly, his phone buzzed. Antonio stopped momentarily, but he had no intentions of entertaining the noise, and he closed the distance between them again, moaning at the sensation of Lovino’s tongue in his mouth. But then Lovino’s phone buzzed. And then Antonio’s buzzed—again.

“What the fuck?” he slurred as he pulled away from Antonio, the last thing he felt like doing at the moment. And from the look on Antonio’s face, he wasn’t all that pleased about it either.

“We’re popular tonight, aren’t we?” he said, digging into his pocket with a wry smile.

Lovino grumbled as he did the same. “This better be real fucking—” His words faded into nothing once he saw who had dared possess the audacity to interrupt them, and he rolled his eyes, hard, agonizingly slow. Of fucking course.

> [8:04] Hey losers guess who just showed up!
> 
> [8:04] Where are you two anyway?
> 
> [8:05] You guys seen Mattie?
> 
> [8:05] Pls tell me youve seen Mattie

"I swear to god, if they don't get together by then end of the night, I'm going to strangle one of them." His scowl deepened as Antonio began to laugh. "You think I won't do it?" He would. He _so_ fucking would. In his mind. And then he would shove them into each other face-first. His lips formed a pout as his boyfriend nuzzled his nose.

"You shouldn't talk like that when there's a murderer on the loose," he teased, lifting Lovino's mask from over his eyes. "People might start getting the wrong idea."

Lovino shrugged. "Whoever lets themselves get killed by an idiot named Basil fucking Sage probably deserved it." 

Basil Sage: master chef, 5-star restaurant owner, and author of New York's best-selling cookbook. All of that success canceled out by a god-awful name. It was a hell of a lot better than Billy Joe Jackson, that was for sure. Country singer Antonio. Lovino had laughed himself to tears when he'd first found out.

"Cute _and_ murderous." Antonio reveled in the way the other smirked back at him. "And I still want to kiss you."

Lovino huffed out a laugh and fingered the topmost button of Antonio vest, inching closer as he breathed, "Then do it." And just as his eyes began to close, just as he began to feel the warmth of those soft lips nearing his...

> [8:08] Hallooooo?

The scowl that came to Lovino's face was wiped clean, and his voice caught in his throat with curse words that would never surface. He gasped softly as Antonio kissed him again, deeper, messier, tongue lapping around inside every inch of his mouth. He thanked whatever god there might be for the music and droning conversation, because the noises he was making weren't hidden too well behind the booth's flimsy red curtain. He was so dazed as Antonio pulled away that he couldn't even remember what he'd been about to say. He couldn't think about anything really when he was giving him that look. That damn look, darkened with lust.

"I think that'll hold us over while we deal with Gilbert, _a que sí?_ " He felt Lovino shudder as he placed one last kiss along his neck. "Could you grab our pictures?"

Lovino nodded, or at least he thought he did; he was still somewhat disoriented. He left Antonio's lap for his spot beside the curtain, pulling it back just enough to reach out and tear the photo strips from the outside dispenser. He found himself flushing as he glanced them over, because they actually looked...decent. He looked up from his hands when Antonio took his own copy, feeling a little self conscious as he brought it closer to his face. Did the bastard really have to stare at them like that?

"God...you're so beautiful when you're laughing."

He looked over at Lovino, who glanced down and away, cheeks a deepening scarlet. Did he not realize how freaking _cute_ he was when he did that? "Since you liked my fake mustache so much, maybe I'll start growing a real one." Lovino looked at him with a mixture of horror and disgust, and Antonio grinned. "No?"

" _Fuck_ no."

The two broke into laughter as Lovino lightly shoved him, and Antonio carefully slipped the photos into his pocket before pulling out his phone again. The ellipsis that greeted him let him know that Gilbert was in the middle of typing, and judging from how much time had passed since Gilbert's last message (an astonishing ten minutes), it was safe to assume that Gilbert was becoming impatient. And it made Antonio feel almost sorry for what he was about to do. Almost, he thought, smirking to himself.

"What are you telling him?" Lovino asked as the other began to type, doing his best to look disinterested.

"That we haven't seen Matthew, and that we're up on the terrace," he said, hitting send. "That'll give us time to meet up with Feli and Ludwig here."

"And what about Matt?"

"Al said they'd be here soon. Then we'll have Feli snag Matthew while Ludwig takes Gilbert."

"Ok..."

"And then we'll check in with Al and Ivan to make sure everything's going as it should."

Lovino seemed to muse a little before he sat back and crossed his arms, the answer satisfactory. "God, this better work."

"Alfred seems pretty confident about it."

"Of course he does," he scoffed. "It's _his_ damn idea."

Lovino had been utterly confused, if not a bit miffed, when Alfred had plopped himself at the foot of their lunch table the day before break. He hadn't had chemistry until the following period, and so he really hadn't understood why Alfred was already in his face. It wasn't that he hated Alfred per se, he actually had a lot of respect for how he looked after Matthew; being an older brother himself, Lovino could relate. It was just that he'd been in the middle of shoving food into his mouth because he was really fucking hungry, and he hadn't appreciated the cheeky smile the blond bastard had given him.

"You know, the food's not going anywhere." The laugh that slipped from Antonio was cut short by a kick to his ankle beneath the table.

"What the fuck do you want?" Lovino asked, but only after he'd swallowed. Because he fucking had _manners_ , and didn't interrupt people while they were eating.

"Alfred?" Feliciano poked his head out from behind Ludwig, whose heavy build unintentionally hid the smaller boy from view. "You don't have lunch right now, do you?"

"Nope. I'm skipping." Alfred quickly looked around the cafeteria before leaning in closer, earning confused glances from the others in front of him. "Look guys, I gotta make this quick. It's about Matthew and Gilbert." Ivan would be stopping Gilbert in the halls right about now, and that meant Alfred was running out of time.

Both Antonio and Feliciano eagerly huddled in closer, slowly followed by Ludwig and Lovino.

"What about them?" Antonio's eyes practically sparkled. "Are they together now?"

"No." Antonio groaned. "Look, Gilbert doesn't know it yet, and Lud, you can't tell him this," Ludwig shrunk back a bit as a finger was pointed in his direction, "but I'm meeting with him later today to speed things along. Gil likes Mattie, Mattie likes Gil. I know it, you guys know it, so that's settled. We've gotta get them to tell _each other_ that. I mean, what's it been, like, four months almost?"

"Feels like it's been fucking four years," Lovino mumbled.

"How are we going to do it?" Feliciano was getting more excited by the second.

"This is how we're going to do it."

Alfred pulled out a small envelope from his pocket and placed it on the table. His invitation. The same invitation that all of them had found in their lockers that morning. "It's going to happen at the New Years party."

Ludwig still didn't quite understand. "How can you be certain?"

"Because I've got a plan that'll make sure it does." Alfred grinned. "You guys just have to help me with it."

Keep them as far away from each other for as long as they possibly could. "Them" being Matthew and Gilbert. Lovino had thought Alfred was a special grade of stupid when he'd said it, because it was exactly the opposite of what they all wanted. But once Alfred had explained himself, it had started to made more sense. In a sadistic sort of way. Once they ended the stunt, Alfred had insisted, they wouldn't be able to pull Gilbert and Matthew apart. One of them _would_ break before the night was over.

"Well, I think it'll work," Antonio said, ever the optimist. He pulled back the red curtain, allowing Lovino to step out the booth before he followed suit. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?" 

Lovino gave a dry laugh, but was otherwise silent. He looked through the crowded room as polaroids flashed and laughter erupted, spotting his brother stepping in from the hallway with Ludwig, who was looking more little-brother-worthy than he'd ever care to admit with Feliciano at his arm. As Antonio waved them down, he grinned with anticipation.

"It'll work."

"Yeah," Lovino said, a smirk twitching into place. "We'll see."

###### 

The moment he stepped inside, Matthew was reminded that this was not the average home. The floor beneath his feet—he had never felt anything quite like it. It almost froze him where he stood, how smooth and polished it felt against the soles of his shoes. With each step he took, Matthew breathed in his surroundings, and it was as if everything, all at once, was vying for his attention. He could hear jazz; the purring of a saxophone, the gentle tapping of symbols, piano keys flirting with drums. His nose was pleasantly overwhelmed by the scents of December, sharp, rich pine, burning wood, the telltale tickle of nutmeg and cinnamon. But what grabbed his attention most was the endless movement of bodies. The people. 

There were so many people. Talking, laughing, their voices carrying in the echoes that sprung from the walls. Matthew could feel them slipping past him, some simply walking, others hurrying, absorbed in their own conversations. He had the sudden urge shrink into himself, to bow his head low and tune out every syllable, and before he knew it his heart was racing. He missed a breath, his next breath deeper than the one before it, and the next somewhat shallow. And instantly he knew. Knew why his body was reacting the way it was, why this feeling felt so familiar.

All of these people, talking, moving around him, these were people he went to school with. People he'd passed in the halls. The halls where he'd heard whispers, where he'd felt people distance themselves. Where he'd wonder if he was walking too slow, or if his expression was strange, or if his cane was really just that intimidating. That anxiousness, that instinctive aversion to scrutiny, that feeling of otherness that he hadn't experienced in months—it had come flooding back to Matthew in an instant, so quick that his own reaction shocked even himself.

But Matthew held his head high despite himself, willing his heart to calm and his breaths to level, because he had long left such thoughts behind and he had no intentions of welcoming them back. He was done being apologetic for who he was. He was sick of tailoring his every move, gesture, and facial expression to make himself more approachable, sacrificing his own comfort for the comfort of others.

He had friends now. _Real_ friends who didn't care if his eyes were a little "off," or that he took the stairs a little slower, or that he wasn't particularly skilled with his emoji keyboard. (Why on _earth_ were there so many to choose from? Parentheses and colons suited him just fine.) Matthew had never imagined that it could feel _this_ good, to finally be content within himself. And to think it had all started with a peculiar German boy, pulling him out from the darkest of shadows, leaving him dazed on the highest of clouds. His face tingled as he thought of what he would say, what he would do when he saw Gilbert again. He just barely caught his brother speaking his name.

"You good, Mattie?" he asked, looking back at his brother to be sure he wasn't falling too far behind in the sea of suits and cocktail dresses. Alfred was just a few steps ahead, and while the foyer wasn't completely full, there were still a lot of people, and he wanted to make sure Matthew was comfortable. Ivan was following close behind his twin (looking hot as all fuck in Alfred's humble opinion), glaring occasionally at anyone who decided they wanted to stare at Matthew for longer than was deemed appropriate.

"I'm fine," he called back. He grinned before adding, "The floor is really nice." He heard Ivan chuckle at his side, and Ivan's gaze fell to the white marble on which he stood, his reflection shown back at him in the high-gloss finish.

"Yes, it is quite nice," he agreed, though it was the chandeliers hanging above them that had first stolen his attention.

"Dude," Alfred laughed, "the floor's not even the half of it." 

Matthew smiled as he followed the sound of Alfred's footsteps out of the foyer and further down the hall, craning his neck upwards to face Ivan. Ivan reflexively leaned in to accommodate their height difference, raising a brow when Matthew's smile went a bit crooked. And then he whispered, "Duuuuuude." 

Ivan giggled softly and glanced forward at Alfred, who was mumbling something aloud about how he hoped they were going to the right place. "Duuuuuude," Ivan replied, Matthew stifling his own laughter. But the hall wasn't as noisy as the front entrance, and their whispers had been too loud. Perhaps on purpose. Alfred paused in his rambling and sent a glare over his shoulder, huffing when the two broke into laughter.

"Real funny." 

Yeah, maybe he had been a little limited with his word choice when they first arrived; _excuse him_ for not knowing he'd be pulling up to a house the size of freaking Mars. Ivan smirked at him, his cool gaze leaving Alfred's narrowed eyes for his pouty lips. He was a bit disappointed that the supple flesh wasn't currently between his teeth. But the night was still very young, and he was quite confident he could change that.

" _Prosti menya, Fredka,_ " he said, and Alfred shivered. "I only mock you to see the precious faces you make." His reward came in the pretty pink that flushed across Alfred's face.

"Shut up," was all Alfred could say before he turned back around, hating the way his body reacted to the sound of the other's native tongue. "Just help me look for this damn tree."

"Tree?" Matthew echoed. "Like a Christmas tree?"

Alfred nodded. "Yep," he replied. "It's where we're going to meet up with the others. Kinda like our home base for the night."

"Oh." Matthew's heart did a backflip. "W-Where is it?"

Alfred pursed his lips as he turned the corner. "Feli said it's in the—" He stopped abruptly as they crossed into the living room, where said tree stood tall against the back wall, so massive that every person who walked passed it seemed to momentarily shrink. And it was no skimpy tree; its pine needles were plentiful and lush, absolutely covered in lights, ribbons, and charming little ornaments.

"I've found it," Ivan said, joining Alfred at his side. 

Alfred smiled wryly at him before returning his attention to the tree. "Man, it's gotta be at least fifteen feet. How the hell do you decorate something that big?"

Ivan found himself smiling at the unique array of ornaments, feeling strangely nostalgic. "I'm sure the owners of this home can afford to hire professionals to do it for them."

"Professional Christmas tree decorators? Is that even a thing?"

Ivan hummed the affirmative. "It is not so much the decorating that gives you the professional title. It is the skill in not falling to your death."

Matthew snorted from Alfred's opposite side. "Is it really that big?"

"For once, he is not exaggerating," Ivan replied, earning a half-hearted glare from his boyfriend.

"It's huge, Matt. Like, someone's-dying-if-that-thing-falls-over huge." The way Matthew's face lit up told Alfred what he was going to say even before he opened his mouth to say it.

"Could you take me a little closer? Your description was beautiful, of course," he teased, "but I still want to see it for myself."

"Sure, Mattie," Alfred laughed, reminded once again of why he'd make a terrible author. He'd always been grateful for his brother's patience in that regard. He held out his arm for Matthew to take hold.

"Wait!" Alfred's eyes bugged when Matthew squeezed his arm, pulling him back just as he'd begun to walk. Matthew felt like slapping himself. How could he have forgotten just that quick? Did he still look ok? Was his tie still straight? Had those fly-away's his father smoothed away come back just to spite him? 

"What is wrong, Matvey?" Ivan asked, looking just as concerned as Alfred.

"Nothing, I just—" Oh, great. Now he was blushing. A bright red face was sure to make a wonderful impression. "Do you...do you see Gilbert?" 

Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. "God, Matthew. I almost had a heart attack."

"Sorry..."

He sighed again, the sound fond this time around. "No, he's not. No one else has shown up yet. So we're just gonna wait for them here."

"O-Oh. Alright." He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Matt, what did you come here to do?" 

"To..." He gulped. "To have fun."

"Exactly. And you can't do that if you're all tense like this," Alfred said, giving his shoulder a playful squeeze.

"I know," Matthew sighed, suddenly feeling ridiculous. "I know...it's just—"

"Gilbert's gonna flatline when he sees you."

Matthew drew in a sudden breath, and Alfred could hear his voice catch in his throat as he went to speak. But ultimately, nothing came out.

"That's what's got you so nervous, isn't it? What he's gonna think?" Matthew was silent, but the answer was written clearly in the flushed apples of his cheeks. "Look, however nervous you are right now, multiply that by fifty. Because that'll be Gilbert while he's trying to pick his jaw up off the floor."

Matthew ducked his head, abashed. "...Off the floor, huh?"

"Yep." Alfred grinned. "Bet you'll hear it hit the floor yourself." 

Matthew laughed. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I mean it. You look great. He won't know what hit 'im." Alfred smiled as his brother grinned back at him.

"You give the best pep talks, you know." 

And he meant it. Alfred always knew how to ease his mind and soothe away his worries. It had always been that way, even when they were young children. Even at four years old Alfred had known exactly what to say, crawling into his bed, taking his tiny hand, and chasing his nightmares away. Matthew thought about it a lot, those miserable nights of crying until he had no more tears left to shed, until his head ached and his voice grew hoarse. The memories always led back to Alfred. Because it was him who had put an end to it all.

"Don't cry," Alfred had said. Matthew could still remember how much of his own snot and tears had made it onto Alfred's beloved Buzz Lightyear shirt, forming a dark splotch at the edge of his sleeve. But Alfred hadn't cared at all, and as Matthew wiped at his nose, Alfred declared that he would find his brother a brand new pair of eyes, ones that weren't sick, ones that the doctors wouldn't take from him. "Don't you know? I'm your big brother, and that means I'm gonna take care of you always." He'd grabbed for Matthew's hand, linking their pinkies together with a little squeeze. "Promise."

They were words he would never forget, whispered in darkness. Darkness that would soon become Matthew's whole world. And Matthew had nodded and closed his tired eyes, sighed as his pillow became a cloud beneath his head, drifting, lulling him to sleep, his fingers curled around those of his flesh and blood, of Alfred, whose words were like light. A warm, bright light that even he could see, that he knew would always be there. And all these years later still it shown, in his brother's words, as bright and warm as ever.

Alfred's smile widened as he adjusted his tie, and he winked. "Keep scaring the shit outta me and there's plenty more where that came from." 

Matthew smirked. "Noted."

"Now, c'mon," Alfred said, holding out his arm again.

Matthew nodded and took hold, laughing sheepishly as he faced Ivan. "Sorry about making you worry like that."

" _Nyet_ ," he said, following at his side. "I'm just glad you are alright."

It wasn't long at all before their designated base was towering over the three of them. Alfred and Ivan watched at a small distance as Matthew's hands brushed past pine needles, both shocked to discover, courtesy of Matthew's nose, that the monster of a tree was actually real, which excited Matthew to a rather adorable degree. Their voices were low as they spoke, each with an ear perked at the ready should Matthew need them.

"You do know that was your fault, don't you?" Ivan said, looking over to the blond at his side.

"I know," Alfred said, watching his brother prod gingerly at ornaments.

"If he had his phone, he would be less anxious."

"True. But if he had his phone, this whole thing would be pointless."

"Also true."

Alfred reached into his left pocket and took out one of two phones he was currently in possession of. The one Matthew thought he'd left at home. They'd been on the road for about fifteen minutes before Matthew had reached into his coat pocket to discover that his phone wouldn't respond to him. Because it wasn't his phone. It was his brother's.

Alfred had felt so cruel when he'd snagged Matthew's phone from his computer desk that evening and replaced it with his. Even more so when Matthew had slipped it into his pocket thinking it was his own. It was a silly little mixup; they had the same phone after all, Matthew had reasoned, and Alfred had played along, his twin ultimately refusing his offer to turn the car around. Cruel perhaps, but also necessary. It had been silenced for the time being, and Alfred couldn't do much of anything with it as it was password locked, but that didn't matter, because he hadn't stolen his brother's phone to snoop. All that mattered was that it was out of Matthew's hands, and that meant the link between he and Gilbert was effectively severed. For now, anyway. Ivan rose a brow when Alfred laughed suddenly.

"What is it?"

"More like _who_ ," he replied, pointing to the message displayed across Matthew's locked screen. It'd been received about fifteen minutes ago, and, apparently, Gilbert couldn't wait to see Matthew. But this was fifteen minutes ago, and Alfred was sure Gilbert was getting just as antsy as Matthew. Hell, as far as Gilbert knew, Matthew hadn't even arrived yet. 

"This stunt of our's is not going to last very long I imagine," Ivan chuckled.

"You think?" Alfred smirked and made note of the time. "I doubt they'll last for more than twenty minutes. Even that long might be pushing it a bit though," he said as an afterthought. "I wouldn't wanna torture 'em, y'know."

"Mm, of course not. It is not like you to inflict pain on others." Ivan glanced down to Alfred's neck, where the angry red remnants of lips against skin had long since faded away. He would fix that soon enough. "Though you seem to thoroughly enjoy being on the receiving end."

Alfred stiffened and did his best unintentional imitation of a fish, mouth opening and closing while he watched Ivan's chest rise and fall with deep, throaty laughter. Luckily for Ivan, whatever Alfred had been about to say was interrupted by the calling of his name. Alfred turned around, as did Ivan and Matthew when their names were shouted as well, a candy cane falling to the floor as Matthew jumped.

"Over here!" Matthew's smile was immediate as he recognized the voice. 

Alfred grinned as his eyes fell on Feliciano, the boy waving as he approached them. "Feli, you made it!"

"Mmhm!" he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet to the tempo of the music. "We got here a little early and split up to look around." He stilled as he looked up at Matthew, stunned by how different he looked with his hair pulled back, a few delicate waves framing his face, strands gathered into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. "Wow!" Feliciano exclaimed, startling Matthew as he took the other boy's hands. "Matthew, your hair looks great like that!"

Matthew gave a sheepish laugh. "Thanks, Feli."

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Feliciano took a few steps back, clearing his throat. "My name is Alman Acks. I'm a librarian." Sure, he used to steal people's identities, but, as per the instructions on his invitation, it was much too early in the game to reveal that.

Matthew bit the inside of his lip to keep himself from laughing. Maybe his name wasn't the worst there was after all.

"Evan K. Gordon," Ivan said, amused with how Feliciano's voice had lowered in pitch. "Some of my peers call me EKG. I'm a heart surgeon." He also did the occasional back alley operation to pay back his debts to the Italian mafia, but that certainly didn't make for a good first impression.

"Name's Kevin Cosmos." Alfred grinned. "NASA's greatest astronaut!"

"Ohh!"

"Right?"

"Wait, but why are you back on Earth?"

"Retired last year. Being the first man on Mars takes a lot outta you, y'know?" The drunken gambling he did in his free time was no one's business but his own. At least not until round two, anyway.

"Oooh." Matthew and Ivan both rolled their eyes almost simultaneously. Because the role was _so_ Alfred. "What about you, Mattie?"

"Oh, um, I'm Avy Arie. I'm...a bird watcher," Matthew said, and it really was as simple as that. No tragic, devious backstory for him. Sometimes he camped out illegally in wildlife reserves though. Did spending a few nights in jail for trespassing count?

"Oh, like with the little binoculars?" Feliciano cupped his hands around his eyes to demonstrate. Matthew answered in the affirmative, blushing a bit at the utter dorkiness of it all. "Aww," he cooed, "how could you ever murder anyone?"

"Yeah," Alfred snorted, throwing an arm around Matthew in that way that annoyed him to no end. "I think it's safe to say Mattie's innocent."

"And Feliciano's not?" he said, pouting a bit. It's not like he wanted to _be_ the murder or anything. But a little taste of fictional danger wouldn't have hurt. "He's just a librarian." 

Feliciano laughed nervously. 

"Well, anyone one of us could have done it," Ivan said. "We can't definitively rule anyone out. Librarians and bird watchers are not exempt."

"Eh, you're right. Feliks said it wouldn't be that predictable."

"Is everyone else on their way here now?" Matthew asked.

"Oh! That's actually why I'm here." Feliciano exchanged a look with Ivan and Alfred, and the two nodded. "The others aren't coming. Not yet, anyway."

"Wait, what?" Alfred silently congratulated himself for how natural he'd sounded.

Matthew frowned. "Why?"

"Well, Ludwig's trying to find Gilbert; he got lost." That brought a smile to Matthew's face. "And Antonio and Lovino are stuck in traffic," he lied. "I didn't want you guys to just stand here all night, so I came over to let you know."

"I see. So, should we meet at a later time then?" Ivan asked.

"Mmhm, Lovino told me they aren't too far away, and I'm sure Luddy will find Gilbert in no time, so let's all meet back here when everyone's made it inside, ok?"

"Well, alright," said Alfred, shrugging. "Guess we can look around in the meantime."

"Would you like me to show you around, Matthew?" Feliciano asked. "I can take you around to the main rooms, and hopefully we'll run into Luddy and Gilbert." Another look was exchanged, and everyone but Matthew knew that Feliciano's "hopefully" was a "definitely." Feliciano resisted the urge to squeal when Matthew's face flushed pink.

"Sure," he answered. "If you don't mind, I mean."

"Of course I don't! Let's go!"

Ivan and Alfred watched them disappear into the next room over before turning their attention to each other.

Ivan smirked. "You were surprisingly convincing."

"You had that little faith in me?" Alfred scoffed.

"You're a terrible liar."

"Shut up." He glanced down at his wristwatch to check the time. "We've gotta meet up with Toni and Lovino next. If they confirm that things are going smoothly, then we can rest easy."

"Good. Because as much as I enjoy this little matchmaking game," he said, slipping an arm around the other's waist, "most of my interest lies in spending this night together with you." Alfred gasped when Ivan pulled him closer, placing a hand on the larger boy's chest to steady himself. And Alfred found himself frozen as he looked into his eyes, incredibly tender under the lights of the chandelier that hung above them.

"Speechless?" Ivan asked, and Alfred could feel the vibrations of his laughter spread through his hand.

_Don't give yourself so much credit._

...Is was what Alfred had wanted to say, but all he could manage was a pitiful shake of his head. Ivan chuckled once more as he leaned in, and Alfred slowly closed his eyes, his lips captured in Ivan's.

"As I said," Ivan whispered against his lips as he pulled away, Alfred looking rather lovely and red against the Christmas tree. "You're a terrible liar."

###### 

Ludwig sat quietly on a small ottoman, one of many that sat scattered about the terrace, surrounded by coffee tables and couches that gave the space a warm, lived-in feel despite it being exposed to the elements. His eyes followed his brother's figure, watched his shadow wander back and forth across the floor of the wooden deck, his footsteps more erratic by the second. If anyone had noticed his brother pacing like a madman, they must not have cared enough to show it. Perhaps especially due to the fact that he wasn't speaking English, and they couldn't understand him anyway. Either that, Ludwig figured, or the few people that were up there were too distracted by the sparklers in their hands to notice.

"Fuck," Gilbert swore, and Ludwig wondered if that was the fourth or fifth time; he couldn't remember. "Should I do it?" he asked, stopping abruptly, looking up from his phone to meet his little brother's gaze.

"Well—"

"Nah," he said quickly, feet back in motion. "It's cool. I'm cool."

"Are you?"

"Yeah." Gilbert stared at the set of numbers displayed across his touchscreen, a series of dashes and numbers that belonged to Matthew. His thumb hovered over the screen as he hesitated, knowing that should he touch it, there was no going back. He had played it over and over in his head, him bringing the phone to his ear, listening, waiting for the ringing to stop until he heard Matthew's voice on the other end. And what would he do then?

Ludwig watched Gilbert's teeth gnaw into his bottom lip and he smiled knowingly. " _Are_ you?"

"You know I'm fucking not," he groaned, stopping to run a hand through his hair.

"You said it, not me."

"Why is this so difficult?" The way he threw his hands up looked rather dramatic against the bright orange flames that burned in the fire pit some feet behind him. "Since when can't I use a damn cell phone? It's just a _phone call_ for Chrissake..." And yet his hand still refused to do what he wanted it to, locking his phone and shoving it back in his pocket. He made a strangled noise. "I should've just done it in the car."

"And why didn't you?"

"Because I wussed out and sent a text instead."

"Ah."

"'Cause we were already at the front gate and I thought, hey, I'll see him in a few minutes anyway, so I figured it'd be weird to call, you know?"

Ludwig nodded, not necessarily to agree, but to let his brother know he was listening .

"But now it's been, like, 45 minutes, and I feel like an idiot because texting _and_ calling is gonna make me look pushy. And that's the _last_ thing I wanna look like."

"You're overthinking it, Gilbert. They've been stuck in traffic for a while now—"

Ludwig grimaced at the fire pit as it popped and hissed, as if scolding him for the lie that had just come from his mouth. He hadn't _wanted_ to deceive Gilbert, but he'd been so suddenly roped into this scheme that he hadn't even had the chance to object. But when he really thought about it, he supposed the results were far more important than the means. After all, even he had agreed, although not vocally, that the past four months of subtle flirting had gone on for long enough. And it was more than apparent that Gilbert had had enough of waiting too. 

"I'd say your concern is valid," he finished.

Gilbert laughed, plopping himself into a seat across from Ludwig. "Even if it is, I probably wouldn't know what to say." He brought a hand lazily to his ear, holding out his thumb and pinky to mimic a phone. "Hey, Matt, I just wanted to make sure you were alright and let you know I'm going fucking crazy because I haven't seen your face in almost two weeks and I think it's slowly killing me." He laughed again, slowly slumping down in his chair and closing his eyes. "A beer would be great right about now."

"How about sparkling cider?" Gilbert groaned. "Gilbert, you have to keep calm. Matthew is on his way. Relax yourself." Red eyes creaked open.

" _You're_ telling _me_ to relax. At a party." He slowly sat up, head tilted to the darkened sky. "God, I really am going crazy." Ludwig rolled his eyes and got to his feet.

"We should get something to eat. You look pale."

"Yeah," he said, watching his breath leave his mouth and quickly vanish. "Albinism will do that to you."

The full moon was suddenly eclipsed by Ludwig's face, clearly not impressed.

"Sheesh, alright, _Mutti_ ," he muttered, following after Ludwig with a slight pout.

Once in the dining room, Gilbert helped himself to some hors d'oeuvres, though he would never understand what people found so appealing about putting tiny little foods on even tinier little sticks. He did ultimately settle for a few glasses of cider. The crisp taste made up for the lack of alcohol, and Gilbert sipped quietly off to the side while he scanned the room with Ludwig, who said Feliciano was on his way to meet them there. As he watched people come and go, nibble and sip, he realized that he'd yet to see Antonio and Lovino, who were _supposed_ to be up on the terrace. But he couldn't find it in him to be all that upset, because although they were his friends, they were a couple too; they were probably busy doing shit couples do on New Year's Eve.

Gilbert spotted Feliciano the moment he walked in, beaming in that way he always did, eyes bright and full of energy. He returned Feliciano's wave as he and Ludwig began to cross the room, frowning when Feliciano looked back over his shoulder and went back into the hallway. "What's he—" 

Gilbert sucked in his breath as he saw the brunette re-enter the room, gently ushering another boy inside. He mouthed the boy's name as Feliciano brought him closer, eyes frozen on honey-blond curls, and soft blue eyes, and lips that made his blood rush. They were moving. Saying things that Gilbert was too far away to hear. But Gilbert couldn't hear anything. Not the music, or the chatter, or the laughing. Not even his own thoughts. Nothing remained but the sound of his breaths and his own beating heart, pounding in his ears. And he stared. Broad shoulders. Long, lithe limbs. Crisp white cuffs. A sharp black tie. Gilbert took it all in, utterly intoxicated. And as the boy drew nearer, as Gilbert drew nearer, he suddenly realized that he hadn't actually spoken. 

"Matthew!"

The boy gasped, blue eyes growing twice their normal size. "Gilbert?"

"I'm sure you two wanna catch up, so we'll leave you to it!" Feliciano lingered and stared between the two boys just long enough to catch Gilbert swallow harder than was normal, and he smiled as Ludwig pulled him along. "It didn't look like either of them heard me," he giggled.

Ludwig responded with an amused grunt, his features softening as Feliciano leaned into him. "Probably not."

"Do you think one of them will break?" Feliciano felt Ludwig laugh though he could not hear it, and its suddenness made him look up. The smile he was trying to fight back won out in the end, lips wryly askew.

"I think it's safe to say that Gilbert's already broken."

###### 

Gilbert's fingertips felt like heated sparks against the back of Matthew's hand. He allowed himself to be pulled in, smiled as his arms wrapped around Gilbert's torso, his cheeks burning hot against the other's shoulder. He laughed when the arms surrounding him squeezed tighter, both from the way it tickled and because of what he heard Gilbert say next.

"God, I missed these."

"Oh," Matthew said as they pulled away from one another, "so you missed my hugs, but not me."

"Nah. Just your arms." He snickered, and if Matthew's ears were wilting leaves, then Gilbert's laughter was water. "Of course I missed you, _dummkopf_."

Matthew laughed again, smile subtle yet noticeably sly. "I'll admit, break was nice, but...there was a little less awesome than I'm used to." 

"C'mon, did you expect there not to be without me?"

"Of _course_ not."

"I don't like your tone, Matthew." But god, if he didn't love that delicious smirk on his lips.

"That sounds like a personal problem, Gilbert." 

He could practically hear the grin stretching across Gilbert's face. "Touché."

Gilbert was holding his hand. It wasn't a grip, nor was it a squeeze, but instead a subtle sensation of skin against skin. And Matthew said nothing. Did nothing to suggest that he objected to the contact. Because he liked the feel of Gilbert's thumb against the palm of his hand. Because he liked the warmth of those fingers against his knuckles. Because he liked it when Gilbert was even more than the vibrations in his ears and the scent on his nose. When Gilbert was tangible.

"You..." Gilbert blushed at the way Matthew tilted his head, as if telling him to go on, that he was listening. "You look amazing."

Matthew's face was painted his favorite color, and suddenly his tongue felt too heavy to move. But somehow he managed. "Thank you..."

"You're...welcome."

There was a slight pause before Matthew spoke again. "Your fragrance..." he said, "it's really nice." His flush deepened once he realized that it was the first time he'd ever said so aloud. "It suits you well," he said. He breathed a mental sigh of relief as Gilbert thanked him. That was _so_ much better (and certainly less creepy) than _dear god, you smell really, really good._ And yet even as his heart rate continued to climb, more words were coming out. "Do you mind if I see what you're wearing?"

Matthew's face blurred to the background as Gilbert's eyes came to focus on his friend's outstretched hand, frozen just a few inches from his chest. _Oh._ He shook his head, but then he realized how stupid the action was without words. " _Nein._ "

Gilbert's breaths were unusually slow as Matthew's fingers settled on his person. First the edge of his collar. Then the lapel of his jacket. His neck tie. His breast pocket. His movements were gentle, almost ghostly. And Gilbert pushed back a sudden tremor. Pushed back the urge to tell Matthew that he needn't tread so lightly, that there was nothing about these fingers against him that he didn't like. That he didn't want. The touches were innocent; Gilbert knew this. But he still couldn't help the way his body was reacting. Matthew's lips were moving again, smiling at him.

"You look very handsome."

Gilbert was pretty sure all of the blood that was supposed to be rushing to his heart and brain was currently pooling in his cheeks. If he suddenly fainted he would know why. "Thanks, Mattie." He cleared his throat softly, his hand dropping from Matthew's because sweaty palms were so not awesome. "You been around the place yet?"

"Feli showed me around to most of the main rooms. I still can't believe how huge this place is."

"I know," he laughed. "It's insane."

"I heard someone got lost in here earlier," Matthew said with a smirk. His teasing flew right over Gilbert's head because Gilbert's version of "lost" was pacing around outside while his brother watched. Luckily for Alfred and his accomplices, Gilbert's response was safe enough that it didn't raise any questions.

"Well, a map on some of the walls wouldn't hurt," he joked, giving a light shrug. "Probably won't be as fancy as all these pictures of Victorian chicks." 

"Probably not," Matthew giggled.

"He take you up on the terrace?"

Matthew gasped. "There's a terrace?"

"Guess that's a no," Gilbert chuckled. "C'mon." He gently grabbed Matthew's hand to loop his arm around his own. Matthew's cane dangled at his wrist as he clung to Gilbert, the aid happily ignored by the both of them. "So," Gilbert continued, making for the hallway, "I think it's about time you tell me your name."

"Oh. Yeah," Matthew laughed sheepishly.

"What do you mean 'oh yeah?' You think I wasn't gonna ask after you were being such a tease about it?" Gilbert couldn't handle how adorable Matthew looked with his face hidden behind his shoulder. 

"Alright, alright." His voice was muffled against Gilbert's jacket. He lifted his head so that his voice would be clear enough. "It's Avy."

"Avy...?"

"...Arie."

Gilbert snorted. "What? Like the big ass bird cages?"

"Yes," he sighed, "like the big ass bird cages." The pout on his lips didn't last very long; Gilbert's laughter was contagious. "Shut up. I've been arrested, you know. Five times."

"Oh yeah? For what?"

"...Trespassing." Another snort.

"Where?"

"On federally protected nature preserves."

Matthew could hear a strained noise come from Gilbert's throat, and he knew it wouldn't be but a few more seconds before Gilbert lost control. He decided to speed it along, bringing his lips closer to the other's ear and whispering as menacingly as he could, "Don't _mess_ with me, Gilbert." 

And Gilbert lost it, his cackles echoing straight through the hallway and into the foyer. Between the snorting and gasping Matthew lost it too, and neither of them could walk another step, both doubled over in their mirth. Gilbert sniffled as he steadied himself with a hand against the wall.

"Are you—" Matthew gasped for air, hands on his knees. "Are you crying?"

"Hell yeah I'm crying!" The words still came out wobbly as Gilbert forced them through more residual laughter. " _Gott verdammt_ ," he groaned and held his stomach, wiping at his eyes. "Alright," he sniffled again. "I'm good."

"Are you sure?" Matthew snickered, standing upright. "Do you need some tissues?"

"Just get over here, smart ass." Gilbert took Matthew's hand and Matthew giggled, steadying himself on Gilbert's arm.

"So, no bad jokes for me then?"

Gilbert gave a lopsided grin. "Nah, I don't think so. That was worth the wait, _Vögelchen_."

Matthew frowned as they began to walk again, raising a brow. His ears had long grown used to Gilbert's tendency to slip into his mother tongue, but that word was definitely a new one. "Foo...what?" His attempt remained unfinished, lest Gilbert tease him for his admittedly atrocious pronunciation. But Gilbert sucked at French, so they were even.

" _Vögelchen_ ," he repeated. "Means...little bird. Birdie." He smirked and shrugged his shoulders. "You wouldn't give me a name, so I gave you one myself. Cute, right?" 

Matthew gave a breathy laugh and it tickled Gilbert's neck, making his ears turning red. "I'd take birdie over bird cage any day." 

Gilbert smiled to himself then, because even after Matthew finished his role of Quirky Bird Enthusiast, the name would still stay. Matthew just didn't know it yet. He had no clue about just how long Gilbert had laid in his bed earlier that evening, smiling like an idiot because he couldn't think of anything more perfect to describe the boy he had fallen for. Just like a little bird.

At first a little timid. Skittish and hesitant. But beautiful; best admired from a distance. And one day that little bird appeared right in front of him, simply by chance, and Gilbert was consumed by the urge to get a little closer. And he did. Inching and inching, drawing nearer and nearer, until suddenly, there was no more coaxing to be done. Its little chirps grew louder and livelier, its songs more vibrant. And Gilbert discovered that it was even more beautiful than it was from afar, that it was fragile but not at all helpless, different but not strange, that it liked to be talked to and played with and touched and held. And Gilbert hoped that what he was about to do wouldn't scare it away.

"Gil?"

He quickly looked to the boy on his arm. "Yeah?"

"I was asking what time it was."

Gilbert's face flared. When was that? Just now? He knew love made people dumb, but deaf? "Sorry," he laughed sheepishly, "hold on a sec." He pulled out his phone just enough to peek at the clock. "Ten till ten."

"Wow...that late already?"

"Yeah." Gilbert's voice was softer than usual, that perpetual smirk on his lips. Time was such a bitch. It was almost like it couldn't stand to see Matthew next to him, so it moved twice as fast just to spite him. Twice as slow when Matthew wasn't near. But he didn't care; Matthew was right here, right now, and nothing else mattered. Not even time itself.

"Time flies, huh?" Matthew smiled as memories of three cheese pizza and dog saliva flooded his mind.

"Yeah, well let it," Gilbert replied. "I'm not done with you yet."

Matthew blushed, his smile coy. "Well, good. Because you couldn't get rid of me even if you tried."

"You say that like it's a punishment." Matthew felt his mind go to mush at the sensation of Gilbert's lips just inches away from his ear. "Sounds like a victory to me."

Even if Matthew had been thinking clearly enough to respond, which he most certainly wasn't, he wouldn't have gotten the chance to, because suddenly there was a shrill scream. The sound made the two of them freeze where they stood.

"W-What was that?"

"I...don't know." Gilbert looked to the end of the hall and into the foyer, where people were gathering. "Something's happening in front. Let's go." The other nodded and they quickly headed for the end of the hall. Once in front, Gilbert tsked at how quickly the crowd had grown. Whatever everyone was gathered around, he couldn't see it, but a quick listen to the frantic conversation around him gave him his answer.

"The murder," he said, raising his voice a bit over all the murmuring. "That's what we just heard."

"O-Oh. Right." Matthew sighed with relief. Their host never did say when or how the murder would take place; or that it was going to scare the hell out of him. Matthew winced as someone collided with his shoulder, hard enough to make him stumble.

"Hey, you aren't the only one who wants to look, asshole!" Gilbert sneered as the guy looked over his shoulder, his face blanching before he ducked out of sight. He said a few more choice words before turning his attention back to Matthew. "Are you alright?"

Matthew's face grew hot as Gilbert's finger's slipped between his, and he nodded. "I'm fine, Gil." Those fingers squeezed his hand tighter and he thought his face was going to go numb. Fine was an understatement. "What's everyone trying to look at?"

"Hell if I know," Gilbert grumbled. "Must be important if people don't give a shit about basic manners."

"Hey." Gilbert felt fingertips press against his knuckles. "I said I was fine. Let assholes be assholes."

And his shoulders fell. Because Matthew's hand was warm and soft and in his own. He laughed softly, returning the boy's smile. "That's my kinda motto."

As the crowd began to slowly dissipate, Gilbert finally saw what all the fuss was about. Feliks really went all out. Bright orange traffic cones, yellow caution tape, the shape of a body, outlined in thick white tape. Next to the outline was a soiled kitchen knife. There was something scribbled on the floor in red, presumably the victim's blood. Gilbert squinted as he read it: ROUND TWO. And then he laughed.

"Cute."

"What is it?"

"Crime scene. Cones, tape, murder weapon. Even a little fake blood."

"What was the weapon?"

"A knife. Guess this is the start of the second round."

Matthew's brows raised on his forehead. "That means we have to start deliberating. Where did your invitation say you have to go?"

"The sun room. You?"

"The living room..."

"Oh..."

"I don't wanna see it!"

Both Matthew and Gilbert's heads snapped up. The voice was unmistakable. As was the next.

"Oh, but come on, it's fake, see?"

"Don't care." 

Gilbert glanced around, looking past a few heads until he spotted them. Antonio spotted them too.

"Gilbert! Matthew!"

Lovino's eyes were wide as Antonio pulled him along, stunned to see his two friends standing next to each other, hand in hand. But just as quickly as he'd seen it, it was gone, the two looking redder than he thought was humanly possible. So they weren't quite there yet, he thought. That meant he and Toni needed to remain somewhat neutral. Quickly, he yanked his boyfriend down to ear level and whispered. 

"Don't say _shit_ about _anything._ "

The look that flashed across the Antonio's face told Lovino that he'd gotten the memo. Thankfully. He wanted to roll his eyes when Gilbert had the nerve to smirk at him, like _he_ was the one who'd just been caught blushing like a third grader asked to check "yes" or "no." The smug bastard.

"You scared of a little fake blood, Lovi Dove?" 

"Oh, fuck off, Gilbert." Lovino knew just how far these theater kids could go with a little makeup and props; he didn't wanna see a fucking dead body, fake or not. 

"Is that any way to treat the guy you left waiting out in the cold?"

Lovino shrugged. "You survived."

"We got a little distracted by the photo booths." Antonio grinned sheepishly. It wasn't a total lie. "But I see you found Matthew."

"Yeah, with no help from you guys. But I get it," Gilbert said, holding up a hand to delay whatever Lovino had been fixing his mouth to say. "You can't suck faces with me in the middle. Feeling's mutual."

"Shut the hell up."

Matthew laughed and Lovino looked over at him, taken aback by his appearance. It wasn't just what he was wearing, or the extra attention he'd given to his hair. It was his presence. He had noticed it long before tonight of course, his improved posture, the fact that his voice no longer sounded like it'd be carried away by the slightest breeze. Sure, Matthew was a quiet guy, Lovino thought, but there was nothing wrong with that. It was clear that it was just his personality. Unassuming as he was, there was no denying that he had a backbone. Gone was the mousy kid he met in after school detention. Perhaps the Matthew standing in front of him had been in there all along.

"You clean up good, Matt." He gave a curt nod as the blond thanked him, and huffed as he looked to Gilbert. "I guess you look pretty decent too."

Gilbert rolled his eyes fondly. "Yeah, back atcha." He looked between his two childhood friends and smirked. "Nice touch with the matching bowties."

"Right?"

Lovino flushed and grumbled as Antonio stood there grinning like an idiot, pleased as can be. That same smile was the reason why there was an obnoxiously red bow at his neck. He'd been tricked. With those eyes and that cheesy " _el rojo es el color de las pasiones_ " bullshit. And he still fell for it like the romantic piece of shit he was. "Whatever."

"We have to hurry and get to the kitchen before we miss the deliberations," Antonio said, hand settling at the small of his boyfriend's back. "It'll be a little suspicious if we're the last ones to show, don't you think?"

Lovino scoffed. "Only if you think one of us did it."

"You both are in the kitchen?" Gilbert asked.

"Yep, where are you guys?"

"I'm in the living room." Gilbert clenched his jaw as Matthew said it a second time, hands buried in his pockets. Time and Fate were sadists for sure.

"Sun room," he replied, facing the boy at his side. "I'll make sure you get to the living room first."

He nodded, the smile on his lips much too brief for Gilbert's liking. 

Antonio looked between the two of them, and then down at Lovino, both sensing the sudden change in atmosphere. "Hopefully it won't take very long," he said, and he really hoped it wouldn't, because Gilbert and Matthew _really, really,_ needed to happen. And soon. It was driving him crazy.

"The faster we can get it over with, the faster we can get back to doing our own shit." That was as comforting as Lovino could ever possibly attempt to be. 

"Yeah," Gilbert laughed, "guess you're right."

"My idiot brother says we're meeting at the tree for the countdown at eleven, so...be there." Antonio was mildly shocked when Lovino took his hand; PDA was definitely more Antonio's thing. "C'mon, let's hurry up and do this," he said, pulling him along. "Try not to go crazy, Matt."

"See you guys later!" Antonio called over his shoulder.

"Don't miss me too much!" Gilbert called back, snickering when Lovino waved a pretty little bird over his head. His expression slowly fell as his eyes landed back on Matthew, both now facing each other. Gilbert went to speak, but so did Matthew, their voices cutting into each other. They tried again, and failed again, both breaking into laughter.

"You ready?" Gilbert finally asked. Matthew's hand settled on his arm. The foyer was nearly empty, most having left to find their designated rooms.

"Mmhm."

They soon found themselves back in the halls, walking much slower than was necessary. Matthew was fiddling with the fabric of Gilbert's jacket as they talked, trying to ignore the way his stomach was churning. But he couldn't. Because his mind was screaming at him too. Telling him that the words that were coming from his mouth were wrong, that they were a distraction, that he needed to _quit bullshitting_. And Matthew couldn't ignore it. Because that was exactly what he was doing. 

"Gilbert..."

The boy frowned as he was stopped, Matthew's fingers squeezing him just tight enough to have his full attention. He looked at Matthew, whose bottom lip was between his teeth. "What's wrong?" The pressure on his arm let up as Matthew's eyes fell to the floor, and then, back up again.

"Could we just...go up on the terrace anyway?" Gilbert's eyes grew wide. "The murderer's already been decided...Us not showing up to deliberate isn't going to change that." But his smile was wider. "So...I just thought—"

"Yes." Matthew's mouth snapped shut as Gilbert took his hand. "Hell yes. Let's go." 

He nodded, breaking into the biggest smile as Gilbert pulled him along, relief flooding throughout his body. "Gil," he laughed, "not so fast! I'll trip and we'll _both_ be on the floor!"

"Shit. Sorry," he said, immediately slowing his pace.

"It's ok."

"You just..." Gilbert blushed. "You said exactly what I was thinking."

"...Really?"

" _Wirklich_." Matthew was silent, but those glowing cheeks and that smile told Gilbert everything he needed to know. "I never took you for the bad boy type." Matthew smirked. And _good lord_ did Gilbert love it when he did that.

"Maybe not before I met you."

"Are you saying I'm a bad influence?"

"If by 'bad' you mean 'awesome,' then yes." 

Gilbert laughed, deep and breathy, and the sound sent a shiver down Matthew's spine.

###### 

It was warm in front of the fire. Quiet. Nothing more than the sounds of swaying branches, crackling wood, and the voices of two boys.

"I can't believe you."

"It was an honest mistake! I don't know really how it happened, but our phones are the exact same model so..." Matthew mumbled sheepishly. The couch dipped as Gilbert joined him where he sat, an arm draped comfortably over the back. Matthew flushed, oblivious to the way the pair of eyes on him softened. 

"And here I thought you were ignoring me." 

His tone was playful, but his words weren't any less true. He'd gotten increasingly nervous when he realized it'd been about a half hour since he sent that last-minute text in the car, thinking that maybe he'd been a little too forward, that maybe he'd put Matthew in an awkward position. That maybe Matthew's feelings didn't run as deeply as his. But from the moment he'd pulled Matthew into his arms that night, every smile, every laugh, every word, every touch—all of it, all of Matthew, had been telling him just how wrong he was. 

"No," Matthew chuckled, thumb tracing the abstract patterns sewn into the throw pillow that sat between them. "I don't think I could ever ignore you."

"Oh yeah?" Gilbert leaned in closer, a cheeky grin on his face. "Why? Because I'm just that great, right?" 

Matthew gave a soft laugh. "...Because you didn't ignore _me_."

Gilbert froze. Because Matthew was smiling at him so tenderly it hurt.

"Everyone else did, but you didn't."

Gilbert was silent. Rarely was Gilbert ever silent, especially when he didn't have to be. And Matthew had always loved that about him. That he always seemed to have something to say, to him. Something to laugh at, to groan about, to bicker about, with him. But now, he was silent. For the first time since Matthew had met him, it was _Gilbert_ who was without words. And Matthew's heart was racing. Because Gilbert hadn't pulled away. Because all of Gilbert's attention was on him. Because he knew Gilbert was listening. And so he swallowed away his fears, knowing that he had already reached the cliff's edge. Now it was just time to take the plunge.

"When you sat down at my desk...I couldn't believe it. And when you introduced yourself, I..." He laughed, barely audible over the crackling fire. "I thought I was dreaming. Because people don't do that to me. Ever. Not unless they have to. So when you came up to me, even though I had no idea who you were, I was so happy. Because you..." Matthew's hands had started to shake. "You didn't treat me like I was some freak."

"Because you _aren't_ , Matthew." Gilbert had finally found his voice, and it ripped through his throat almost painfully, as if he couldn't get the words to leave his lips fast enough.

"I know," he said, hands wrung in his lap to keep them steady.

"You aren't," Gilbert repeated, softer, earnest. "And you never were to me."

"Thank you," he whispered. 

"Matthew..." He was so close that Matthew could feel his own name run straight through him. "Don't thank me for something like that."

"I wouldn't even be here at this party if it wasn't for you." Matthew pulled back slightly, just so that Gilbert could clearly see his face. See that he meant every single word he was saying. "I wouldn't have made so many friends. Or even remembered what it feels like to have someone other than my brother or my parents treat me like...like _me_."

"Mattie, I didn't do any of that. _You_ did." The extra space that Matthew had put between them was gone. "Do you _know_ the effect you have on people? People who think more of you than the fact that you can't see?"

Matthew didn't know how to respond, his lips parting slightly, but nothing coming out. His breath left him as Gilbert leaned in closer, feeling the warmth of his body, even hotter than the flames that burned in front of them. He hadn't realized he'd bowed his head until Gilbert said his name again, whispered it. And Matthew lifted his head to face him, his cheeks burning.

"I love being with you."

Gilbert stared into Matthew's widened eyes, knowing that they weren't actually looking back at him. But he didn't care. It wouldn't stop him from loving that soft shade of blue. From loving how lovely that soft shade of blue looked against those flushed and heated cheeks. "When I walked up to you that day, I wanted to get to know you. Not 'the blind kid.' _You_ , Mattie."

Matthew's throat was tight.

"And I love getting to know you. I love knowing that your favorite book is _The Giver_. And that you've read it four times. I love knowing that you like thunderstorms. And chirping crickets. And the way snow crunches under your boots. I love knowing that you hate it when people drag their feet when they walk. And click their pens in class." He smirked. "And when you forget to peel the stickers off of fruit before you eat it." 

Matthew laughed. Or at least he'd intended to. Instead it came out as more of a sob, the sound, and the tears that followed, shocking the both of them. "Sorry," he said hurriedly, wiping at his face, laughing again because he couldn't believe that he was crying. "I'm just so glad I met you."

And Gilbert couldn't stand it anymore. Being so close to Matthew and yet not close enough. And he closed the dreaded gap without another thought more, pulling Matthew into his arms, squeezing him tight until he heard that little giggle, muffled against his chest. Matthew breathed him in, every muscle melting into Gilbert's touch, sighing as he heard the boy he clung to reply, " _Ich auch._ "

As the two pulled away, neither did so completely, their palms connecting, fingers intertwining, faces mere inches apart. Matthew could feel the heat of Gilbert's breath against his cheeks, the tips of their noses just barely touching. And that was when he heard it, felt it, whispered against his lips.

"If I asked to date you...what would you say?"

Matthew was shaking, his hand clamped around a fist full of Gilbert's jacket. "Yes," he breathed.

Not even a second after the word had left his mouth were Gilbert's lips against his, soft, warm, smiling, Matthew's fingers trembling against his cheek. Hot tears slipped past his lashes as that hand around his gripped him even tighter, as the lips against his pulled him in deeper, brought him closer to the boy who'd _seen_ him.

Who'd seen _him_ , the elephant, and refused to look away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for having taken interest in this story. I appreciate each and every one of you who've followed along thus far, long-time readers and new. I think I had way too much fun with all the cheesy mystery identities lmao.
> 
> Before you go, please take a look at this wonderful [fanart](http://liettore.deviantart.com/art/PruCan-Elephant-cover-581567785) drawn by one of my lovely readers! I absolutely adore it and wanted to share it with you all :)


	11. The Magic Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two boys wandered without a map to guide them, a little anxious, but no less eager for the journey ahead.

⠠⠞⠓⠑ ⠠⠍⠁⠛⠊⠉ ⠠⠺⠕⠗⠙

The sun was beginning to sink from overhead, its slow but steady descent staining the sky a soft orange. It wouldn’t be but a half hour or so before it slipped beneath the horizon, and Arthur found himself getting worried, eyes peering out to scan the front driveway.

As if the weather wasn’t already cold enough, temperatures dropped dramatically in the evening, often freezing over whatever flurries had covered the roads during the day. If the Englishman remembered correctly, the weather report he’d half listened to earlier that morning warned of temperatures reaching well below zero once night fell. He really hoped they would arrive soon. And safely.

He jumped a bit at the soft click of his electric kettle shutting off, the sound of boiling water reaching his ears. Arthur stared at the small appliance, and then at the empty mug that sat beside it, his mind still a bit distant. He _had_ been making tea, hadn’t he? To calm himself down, yes, that was it. He sighed as he plopped a tea bag inside, the water turning a rich brown as he began to fill his mug. The scent alone was enough to rid him of his stiff shoulders. 

How ridiculous he was, a forty-five year old man fussing over something so simple. He sipped from his mug, sighing once more as he leaned against the countertop. Except it wasn’t so simple. Not for Arthur, anyway. It was _he_ who had been the one to suggest it and yet, it was still bloody nerve wracking. He sat down his mug on the counter and returned to the window, eyes again fixated on the driveway. 

“Now, Arthur, do you really want to be caught doing that when they arrive?”

Arthur’s fingers slipped from the blinds, the man whipping around to find his husband smirking at him, stealing a few sips from the mug he’d left behind.

“What are you talking about?” he huffed, arms crossed at his chest.

“Nothing says a good first impression like seeing your boyfriend’s father staring out at you through the window.”

Arthur flushed, sending a glare the Frenchman’s way. “Shut up, frog.”

Francis chuckled, waving Arthur over to the stove. “Come and taste this for me, will you?” 

Arthur rose a brow. “Is it not your lamb stew? You’ve made it plenty of times.”

“Yes, but I’ve prepared the broth a bit differently this time around,” he replied, stirring the stew as it continued to simmer. “I want your opinion first.”

“Well, alright.” Arthur smirked as he walked over. “I seem to recall you saying my English tastebuds were doomed since birth. And yet you want my opinion, hm?”

“Nevermind that,” he said waving a hand. “I’ve trained your palate in the ways of my country's cuisine. I trust your invaluable judgement.”

Arthur tsked and grumbled as Francis brought the wooden spoon to his lips, taking a sample despite himself. A hum of pleasure left Arthur almost immediately, and the sound alone was the only feedback Francis needed.

“My god, Francis, that’s wonderful.” Francis smiled and brought an arm around the other’s waist as he lidded the pot. 

“Just a different brand of wine. In celebration of our guest.”

The Brit laughed softly. “Spoiling the boy before you’ve even met him.”

“Oh, but I’ve met him.”

Arthur scoffed, bringing a fist to the Frenchman’s chest. “You know what I mean.” He pouted at the other’s smug smile. “Braggart.”

Francis pulled him in closer, pecking his cheek in apology. “It certainly will be much different to actually meet him in person.”

“Obviously…” Arthur mumbled, playing with the buttons on his husband’s shirt. “Though I’m still a bit envious that you’ve already gotten a chance to speak with him. Even if only through a computer.”

“Are you really so anxious?”

Arthur sighed. “Matthew’s _dating_ now, Francis. How can I not be?”

It had come out the morning of the new year, the discovery that Matthew was now dating, starting with Arthur casually asking how the boys had enjoyed their little party. The way Matthew’s face had flushed was a dead giveaway. It hadn’t taken long for breakfast to turn into a game of 20 Questions, he and Francis prodding for details while Alfred snickered about them being “a year late.” Arthur had insisted Matthew invite Gilbert over for a proper meeting, and Matthew promised to ask Gilbert when he would be free. And so here they were on a Friday evening, waiting to meet the boyfriend.

“You weren’t this worked up about Alfred’s boyfriend.” Arthur’s face immediately scrunched up into a grimace, face turning pink.

“We didn’t even know Alfred had a boyfriend until I—”

He was cut off by Francis' hearty laughter.

“Shut _up_.”

Arthur didn’t want to relive it. Walking into his son’s room one morning to find him lying beneath another boy, both shirtless, their locked lips breaking apart abruptly as he opened the door. He supposed it was what he got for not waiting for an answer after he’d knocked. Slowly, calmly, and somewhat numbly he’d told Alfred that breakfast was ready before gently closing the door. 

Eventually Alfred had come down that morning, along with the towering boy he introduced as his boyfriend, Ivan. The boy had been extremely apologetic, even more so than Alfred, who seemed to be having a bit of difficulty recovering from his father’s unexpected visit. Although Arthur would have preferred he could erase the image from his memory altogether, Ivan had been exceedingly polite and charming, so much so that the impromptu Meet the Boyfriend breakfast had been much less awkward than it could have been.

“Anyway, Alfred is different,” Arthur continued. “I don’t fuss over him the way I do Matthew. You know that.”

“ _Oui, je sais_...” Francis moved Arthur’s bangs slightly away from his brows, watching them crease and worry. “I’m just as guilty as you are.”

“And yet you’re still so calm.” His tone was somewhat skeptical.

“Because I’ve seen the way he makes Matthew smile. You’ve seen it too. Even without having met him.”

“Well...yes. Yes, you’re right,” Arthur said, a smile coming to his face.

“I’m sure he’s much more anxious than you’ll ever be.”

“As he should be.” Arthur smirked. “He has not one, but _two_ fathers he needs to impress tonight.”

“As long as you aren’t stalking out by the window,” Francis teased. “We don’t want to scare him away before we’ve even opened the door.”

Arthur slapped his husband’s shoulder half-heartedly as he leaned down for a kiss, the Englishman laughing against his lips.

###### 

Matthew’s sides were on fire. He could feel tears pricking in his eyes, and no matter how much he begged and pleaded for mercy, it became ever more apparent that the torture was far from over. 

And then Gilbert’s voice cracked. 

Matthew’s sides were aching. For no other reason than the fact that Gilbert couldn’t sing worth a damn.

Gilbert couldn’t stop the tingling sensation that crept along his face as he watched the boy in the passenger seat throw his head back, eyes squeezed shut as his laughter filled the small space between them. He loved it when Matthew laughed like that. To the point where speaking was impossible. To the point where his face reddened, and his nose went all cute and crinkly. He silently thanked the band playing on the radio for the high notes his shitty vocals would never reach.

“You just gonna laugh in my face while I serenade you?” He smirked when he was answered with another snort. “Fine then. Let me help you out.”

Matthew gasped, curling in on himself as he felt Gilbert's fingers wriggle against his stomach. “Gil! No, stop!”

“Hm? Stop what?” 

The smile on his lips was almost predatory, his wide grin going crooked as Matthew tried to turn away towards the window. It didn’t take long at all for Matthew to realize that he’d made a terrible mistake, Gilbert’s arm snaking between the door and his seat to lock him in position. A terrible, terrible mistake. 

“Please!” he managed to wheeze out. “I can’t breathe!”

“Oh yeah? You sound fine to me.” 

And before either of them could comprehend it, Matthew’s elbow made contact with Gilbert’s stomach. 

Gilbert’s groaning quickly put an end to Matthew’s laughing fit. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to—” 

He reached out without thinking, a frantic hand landing gently on the other’s knee.

 _Thigh._

That was definitely Gilbert’s thigh. 

Matthew quickly pulled away and mumbled another apology, shoving his hands in his lap. He might have shoved his face there too if not for fear of embarrassing himself any further. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, caught between a cough and a laugh. “Wanna warn me the next time you go in for the kill?”

“I told you to stop,” he huffed, a lengthy sigh leaving him as he felt the other retreat to his side of the car. He laughed softly through the soreness in his stomach and sat back in his seat, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Serves you right.”

“ _Ja, ja._ ” Gilbert grabbed one of the cups that sat between them, not realizing how thirsty he was until he saw Matthew reach for his own drink. “S’not my fault your laugh’s so fucking cute.”

Matthew’s lips curled around the straw in his mouth, eyes shifting coyly towards the floor. He could feel his face growing warmer, and the hot chocolate running down his throat, while delicious, certainly wasn’t doing him any favors. The warmth spreading in his cheeks seemed to echo the fluttering in his stomach, the same way it did when Gilbert’s lips brushed against his, when Gilbert’s fingers curled around his, when Gilbert reminded him that Matthew was...his.

 _Boyfriend_. 

It was as if the word ceased to be real the moment Matthew realized it applied to himself. After he realized it applied to his best friend, to his crush, to the boy who’d made him feel things he’d never experienced before. 

It had sounded even stranger coming from his parents’ mouths, from his brother’s, from his friends’...perhaps because it had yet to leave his own. Matthew couldn’t even count the number of times the word ran through his mind each day, how many times he’d smile at the mere thought that what he once thought was impossible was not only possible, but now his reality. And yet he still hadn’t fixed his lips to say it, as if him doing so would break the spell he was currently under. 

It had been just over a week since that night out on the terrace. The feel of Gilbert’s lips was still fresh in his mind, in front of the warmth of the fire pit, underneath the towering Christmas tree, feeling Gilbert smile against him, and squeeze him in that moment when the old year became new. If there was ever a time to use the word “bliss,” it was during that night, when Matthew could feel his own love reflected in Gilbert’s every touch. 

Matthew licked the taste of chocolate from his lips, wishing to replace it with that of the boy next to him. He brought his bottom lip between his teeth, fiddling with his straw. He couldn’t shove thoughts like these to the back of his mind anymore. And if he were honest with himself, he didn’t want to. He wanted to take that image running through his mind—the one where he took Gilbert by the sleeve, and pulled him in, and brought his lips to Gilbert's own—he wanted take it and make it real. But...did Gilbert feel the same?

“Hey, _Vögelchen_ …”

Gilbert’s voice was soft, but Matthew still found himself startled, being pulled so suddenly from his private thoughts. A flush rose to his cheeks as he registered the German word. It seemed Gilbert was rather fond of the silly alias he’d created. Matthew would have been lying if he’d said it wasn’t growing on him too.

“Hm?”

“I wanna take you on a date.”

Matthew smiled, setting down his drink. “You say that like we aren’t on one right now.”

“What?” Gilbert shot up in his seat, heat rising to his face. “Mattie, sitting in my car parked at the back of Dunkin’ Donuts isn’t a date!”

“Well, why not?” Matthew chuckled as he messed with the radio, flipping to another station to bypass the advertisements. 

“Mattie, I mean a _real_ date. Where I, you know, _take_ you somewhere! This was just...we had some free time after school before dinner with your folks, so I—” Gilbert frowned as he looked at Matthew, whose smile had become an expression of mild confusion. He reached out for the dial that sat between them, turning down the radio before he spoke again. “Did you really think I’d allow our first date to be in a shitty old parking lot? What kind of shit boyfriend would I be if I did that?”

Matthew stilled. It was the first time he’d heard it from Gilbert’s lips. And for the first time, it sounded _right_. 

“Gil,” he said after a pause, “maybe this isn’t our official first date. But still, I don’t care where it is, or even what we do. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy.” He played with frayed edges of his scarf, stomach churning as he spoke again. “All I really care about is being able to spend time with you.”

Gilbert’s eyes widened as he looked at Matthew there sitting next to him, smiling at him like that, with that deep red against his cheeks. And he wondered how on earth he’d managed to restrain himself for as long as he had, wondered how he’d gotten through the week with mere embraces and hand holding and forehead pecks. He wanted to feel those pretty lips moving along his, just like before. More than anything.

Just as Matthew thought he might have come on a bit too strong, he felt Gilbert’s hand taking his, pulling anxious fingers away from the scarf at his neck. He allowed himself to be pulled in as he found his breaths growing shallow, his eyes slowly closing as the heat of Gilbert’s body grew nearer, both stalling in the middle. 

Gilbert waited for any type of resistance, for any sign that he should stop right then and there, but it never came. Matthew placed a hand on the other’s shoulder, pulling him even closer, fingers gripping tight once he felt Gilbert’s lips press against his.

Gilbert’s lips were soft. Matthew couldn’t help sighing against them, leaning in to the kiss as one of Gilbert’s hands came to rest at his waist. _God_ , how badly Matthew had wanted to experience this again. To be touched like this again, his anxiety and inexperience be damned. Even as their mouths broke apart, both knew that neither was ready for this to end, and so they lingered, mouths mere inches apart, hovering, hesitating, until again the little space between them was erased.

It wasn’t as smooth the second time around, an awkward clashing of teeth as the two rushed to meet one another. Gilbert smiled when Matthew let out a sheepish laugh, tilting Matthew’s head upwards as they began again. Slowly, they formed a rhythm, lips parting and reuniting at a steady pace, Matthew’s hand falling from Gilbert's shoulder to his chest. Little subtlety remained once Gilbert took the lead, and Matthew gave a small gasp as the other’s tongue swept along his lip.

Before he could even fathom that it was happening, Gilbert’s tongue was in his mouth, sliding against his. It sent tremors running down his back, every muscle in his body tensing as his brain tried to register the new sensation. But just as fast as he’d felt it, it was gone, as were Gilbert’s lips. Matthew’s eyes opened at the sudden loss of contact, mouth still slightly ajar.

“Sor—”

“No.” Gilbert’s breath hitched as the hand on his chest balled into a fist, gently pulling him back in. He could smell the faint scent of chocolate on Matthew’s breath as it left his moistened lips, and he gave an involuntary gulp when Matthew whispered again. “I’m fine.”

Again, Gilbert brought the blond’s lips to his, planting one soft kiss after another until he felt the fingers gripping at his jacket go slack. Matthew was prepared when Gilbert prodded again, lips readily parting. The heat of his breath, the firm pressure of his lips, the two alone were enough to leave Matthew tingling from head to toe. But now to feel this new part of him, wet, warm, slick, _eager_...he could find no shame in something that felt so good.

The soft noises leaving Matthew’s throat fed the pulsating between Gilbert’s legs, his jeans growing uncomfortably tight with Matthew’s tongue writhing against his own. He hadn’t anticipated the sound of his own pleasure being coaxed from him, Matthew’s fingers running up the nape of his neck, nails trailing along his scalp. Matthew shuddered just as Gilbert had, overwhelmed with the fact that he’d caused such a strong reaction.

As the two of them pulled back for air, still they kept close, panting softly. Matthew’s hand slowly left Gilbert’s hair, only to be taken by him once more, his fingers slipping into the grooves he’d become so fond of.

“I—” Matthew stopped himself, embarrassed both by how breathless he sounded and because of what he was about to say. Gilbert’s thumb running along the palm of his hand prompted him to continue. “I’ve never done that before…”

“The making out or the tongue?”

Matthew ducked his head, sticking his face in the crook between Gilbert’s neck and shoulder. “Any of it,” he said, voice muffled. He could feel Gilbert shake with amusement.

“Makes two of us then.”

Matthew pulled away, brows raising on his forehead. “...Really?”

“Yeah.” Gilbert smirked. “Comes with virgin territory.” 

Matthew’s lips parted in awe, mind reeling over the fact that Gilbert had so casually announced his own sexual inexperience. Of all the things he’d expected to learn about Gilbert, that definitely hadn’t been one of them, what with how seemingly easy it was for him to talk about anything and everything remotely sexual. Sometimes to the point of making Matthew’s lower half do things he wasn’t particularly proud of. 

“But you…” Matthew’s eyes scurried to the floor, lashes exceedingly light against his ruddy cheeks. “You’re always…” He was cut off by the other’s soft laughter.

“I talk big, but I haven’t done anything,” he said with a shrug. “Lutz acts like such a prude, but if you knew the things he’s done with Feli, you’d think I’m a fucking nun.” Matthew stifled a snort behind his hand. “Besides a shitty first kiss in sixth grade, my experience is pretty much nonexistent.” Gilbert paused, grinning before he added as an afterthought, “But I’m pretty good at getting the job done myself.”

“Oh my god, _Gilbert_ ,” Matthew groaned, shooing away wonderfully filthy thoughts while Gilbert snickered, bringing his arms around either side of him. He smiled despite himself, just elated that Gilbert had yet to let him go.

“What I’m trying to say is, there’s no shame in it. Being inexperienced. This is all really new for me, too. Having a really cute boyfriend, kissing my really cute boyfriend, it’s really awesome and I...” he trailed off, feeling his ears grow hot. “I’m still trying to get used to this.”

Matthew nodded, relief flooding his body at the realization that he wasn’t alone. That Gilbert too was wandering without a map to guide him, a little anxious, but no less eager for the journey ahead. 

“Me too,” he admitted. “Sometimes I still can’t believe it. That I have a boyfriend.” He licked his lips, the magic word seeming to tingle as it left his tongue for the first time. “And that he’s... _you_.”

“Damn right he’s me.” Matthew grinned as Gilbert squeezed him. 

“Gil?”

“Mm?”

“I like it when you kiss me.” 

Matthew had always relied on his words and his actions to express himself in ways his eyes couldn’t, but as he sat there in Gilbert’s car, shielded from the bitter cold, wrapped in more warmth and affection than he could ever ask for, it was perhaps the first time he’d done so without hesitation. 

“Please, do it more often.” 

It was so unusually blunt for Matthew that Gilbert sat there for a moment, taken aback.

“Actually,” he continued, figuring he should get it all out while he still had the courage. 

Besides, he’d just had Gilbert’s tongue in his mouth; what really did he have to be embarrassed about at this point? 

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you all week. But I was scared I might miss and kiss your nose instead,” he said with a sheepish laugh. “And I didn’t really know how I should ask you without sounding strange…”

Gilbert could’ve just about died from how adorable Matthew looked while he sat there between his arms, rambling. “Mattie.”

“Yes?”

“Repeat after me.” He smiled as Matthew gave the slightest frown. “Kiss me.” 

Matthew’s flush grew darker, a look of realization gracing his features. And he gave a shy whisper. “...Kiss me.”

And just like that Gilbert’s lips were against his. As Gilbert pulled away, Matthew mumbled, “You don’t need my permission.”

“Oh yeah?” Gilbert chuckled, to which Matthew nodded his head. “So,” he said, leaning in again, “you mean I could just…” Matthew made an appreciative noise as Gilbert kissed him again, firmer, longer than the one before it, whispering against him as he pulled away, “Like that?”

“Yes,” he sighed, not knowing what the helpless sound did to the boy holding him.

“And who says I have a problem with nose kisses?” Matthew laughed as Gilbert pecked the very tip of his nose. “You could kiss me on the eye and I’d be happy as shit.”

“Well, I don’t _want_ to kiss you on your eye,” he replied, bringing a hand cautiously to the side of Gilbert’s face, running his fingertips along his cheek, his jaw, his chin, thumb brushing across his lips before he leaned forward, feeling the telltale twitch of Gilbert smiling against him.

“Bullseye.” 

His eyes softened as Matthew laughed aloud, a sound he knew he would never tire of.

“What time is it?”

Gilbert pulled away to glance at the radio display. “It’s...five twenty-three.” He stared at the bright green numbers for a moment longer, his eyes widening. “ _Shit_. It’s nearly half past. We need to get going.”

Matthew smiled as Gilbert let him go, and buckled his seatbelt while Gilbert grabbed his keys. He heard a deep sigh just as the keys slipped into the ignition, and reached out without another thought. “Ready?”

Gilbert looked down at the gear shift, where Matthew’s hand sat atop his, and back up at that smiling face he adored. With Matthew’s request still fresh in his mind, he leaned over, savoring every second spent with the taste of chocolate on his tongue. He grinned as he pulled away.

“Ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teenagers. So awkward and goofy and irrationally anxious, but no less adorable. I really wanted to highlight that with the second half of this chapter, especially in regards to Gilbert's character, as it's common to see him written as some kind of utterly irresistible, knows-all-the-smooth-moves-to-make-your-panties-drop Sexpert™.
> 
> When really, he's just a fucking dork. ┐(￣ω￣)┌
> 
> Thanks so much for stopping by for another chapter! [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=djV11Xbc914) is for anyone who wanted to know what song Gilbert was butchering. :)


	12. Sworn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert meets Matthew's family, and begins to wonder what has happened to his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Fully italicized dialogue_ means that a language other than English is being spoken, although the dialogue is still written in English. (Of course I'll continue to write out common-knowledge words like " _non_ " or " _ja_ ," for example.) I do this just as a courtesy to readers, so that you won't find yourself pasting lines of text into Google Translate every five seconds, or scrolling all the way to the bottom for a translation, which I know is annoying as hell. 
> 
> It also saves me from making an ass of myself because I can avoid butchering a language that I don't speak. (￣□￣)
> 
> Also, when alone together, Gilbert and Ludwig are obviously going to speak in their native tongue, which I lightly hinted at in Chapter 10. In a case like that, I won't italicize anything since it's already implied.
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments, bookmarks, and kudos!

⠠⠎⠺⠕⠗⠝

Matthew’s hand was the only thing keeping Gilbert’s heart from tearing straight through his chest. It was warm, and it fit so perfectly in his, Matthew’s fingers pressed gently to his palm. The soft caress of heated skin. These fingers linked with his. They were the only thing he was familiar with, and Gilbert indulged himself in these last few moments of intimacy, before the greetings and formalities. 

Before he said or did something stupid.

A pale thumb found its way across the back of the other boy’s hand, tracing veins, brushing past knuckles as the two stalked quietly up the driveway. Gilbert just barely caught his own reflection in the window as they passed his car, running a fussy hand through his hair for a fourth time, as if the last three times hadn’t been enough. As if a single strand out of place would be the difference between rejection or adoration. Gilbert just couldn’t help himself. He didn’t know what he would do if the night ended with Matthew’s parents despising him.

“Gilbert,” Matthew snickered, squirming slightly in the other’s hold. “That tickles.”

“Oh,” he laughed, “sorry.” Matthew simply shook his head with no need for the apology, smiling softly to himself. 

“Thank you.”

Gilbert frowned. “Hm?” The porch light blinked on suddenly, sensing the boys’ footsteps as they drew nearer. “For what?” he asked as Matthew stopped.

“For coming to dinner,” he replied. “We haven’t been dating for very long at all and so...I know it’s a lot to ask.” 

“Stop that,” Gilbert said, a smirk playing at his lips. “Like I didn’t already know your folks’d be dying to meet me. I mean, I’m really as good as it gets, can you blame ‘em?”

“Hope you brought a nice pen,” Matthew teased. “They’re gonna want autographs before you go.”

“Yeah, I guess I can do that.” Gilbert shrugged, breaking out into a grin. “It’s lucky they’ve got such a cute son. I’m not usually this generous.”

A pair of moths danced beneath the glow of the light above their heads as the two broke into laughter, the sounds fading away with the last remnants of the sinking sun.

“But seriously,” Gilbert spoke again, his tone more sober, “you say that like this is some kind of inconvenience to me. It’s not. Shit, I feel _honored_ to be meeting the two people that brought you to me.”

Gilbert laughed quietly to himself as he watched Matthew go pink under the darkening sky, his own cheeks painted in a shade to match. Listening to himself talk to Matthew was a constant reminder of his own hypocrisy. All of the shit he’d given his little brother and yet here he was, saying things so sickeningly sweet he could feel the words rotting his teeth as they left his mouth.

But he _loved_ it, the way these words tasted on his tongue, loved seeing what they did to the boy in front of him. He loved that they came so effortlessly, so shamelessly, so unlike before when the fear of rejection clawed at the back of his mind. He loved that smile on Matthew’s lips, and loved it even more knowing that it was for him and him alone.

Matthew made as if to speak, but stopped himself, teeth pressing against his bottom lip before he said, “Is there anyone at the window?” 

Gilbert looked over his shoulder, eyes finding each of the four windows visible from the front of the house. His gaze went from top floor to bottom, noticing the blinds were closed. He inadvertently gulped.

“No?” he answered warily, turning back around.

“Thank god.”

It was so quiet Gilbert had nearly missed it.

He gasped audibly as Matthew’s fingers brushed the nape of his neck, and the distance between them was closed in an instant, Matthew’s lips pressed firmly against his. He could smell and taste Matthew’s mint flavored chapstick as he closed his eyes, shoulders sinking. It stopped the anxious churning in Gilbert’s stomach. But now the hammering in his chest was back. He stared at Matthew’s face when the other’s lips left his, dazed by that smile and those lovely pink cheeks. Matthew had just…

“Sometimes,” he said softly, “I wanna leave you speechless too.”

Gilbert blinked a few times, feeling that tingly warmth spread down his neck and along his ears. His face was burning, and it felt as if the snow under his shoes would surely melt where he stood.

“That’s...one way to do it.”

“Let’s go,” Matthew laughed, taking hold of Gilbert’s hand as he made for the front door.

Matthew could have been leading him into the gates of Hell and still Gilbert gladly would have followed.

###### 

Arthur gasped as he heard the front door open, the knife in his hand falling from his grip. As if the sound hadn't startled him enough already, Alfred being right behind him to catch it was the cherry on top.

"Woah," Alfred said, fingers curling around the knife just before it hit the floor. "Lucky this is a butter knife or else I'd be screwed."

"Alfred," Arthur sighed, taking in his son's goofy grin as he handed it over. "Thank you."

"Dad?" Arthur visibly stiffened as Matthew's voice carried from down the hall. "Papa?"

"Where's your father?" Arthur asked as he looked to Alfred with urgency.

Alfred shrugged. "Last I saw him he was in the study looking for a tube of 'Deepest Azure.'" He made sure to draw out the last two words as he mimicked his father's accent, his voice exaggerated and soft.

"They're here and he's decided to start _painting_?" Arthur put a hand to his face, exasperated.

"Dad, _relax_ ," Alfred said, leaning back onto the counter. "What are you all worked up about a high school kid for?"

"I'm relaxed," he replied, crossing his arms.

"Whatever you say, Dad."

"Don't get cheeky with me," he said, though the words held no real bite. "And why are you still here? You were supposed to be gone before-"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. I just came for one of these babies before I go," he said, snagging a brownie from the pan Arthur had just been tending to. There was no way he was leaving without a bite of the masterpiece that was his Pop's homemade brownies. Triple. Chocolate. _Fudge_. It was the stuff of gods. Like literally everything else his Pop made.

"Save me some, please?" he asked, voice muffled with a mouth full of fudge that made Arthur chuckle despite himself.

"Yes, yes, fine. And here." Alfred watched his father place another brownie in a small sandwich bag. "For Ivan," he said, placing it in Alfred's jacket pocket. He smirked as his son's eyes widened a bit. "As if I wouldn't know who you decided to pass the time with."

"Yeah...thanks," he replied, a flush growing along his cheeks. "Scare the shit outta Gilbert for me, mkay?"

And before Arthur could scold his son for his language, Alfred was already down the hall.

"Dad?" Matthew called again, hearing distant footsteps coming their way, footsteps that had Gilbert standing stiff as a board. That is until the German was met with a familiar face.

"Nope," Alfred popped the 'p' as he answered. "Guess again, little bro."

Had he not been so surprised Matthew would have rolled his eyes. He was literally only younger by two minutes. "Alfred?"

"Well, if it isn't Mr. Awesome himself," he said, a wide grin on his face. "You ready for your interrogation?"

Gilbert simply smirked. "Was that supposed to funny?"

"Sure was for me, the one not about to be skewered alive." 

"Al, leave him alone. Why are you still here, anyway?"

This was _exactly_ the reason why Matthew hadn't wanted Alfred in the house tonight, let alone at the dinner table. Just because Alfred's Meet-the-Guy-I'm-Dating Dinner—no, Breakfast—had been awkward as hell didn't give him the right to make he and Gilbert's moment anymore difficult than it had to be.

"Hey! Ow!" Alfred grumbled as his brother grabbed hold of his arm, pushing him towards the front door. Sometimes Alfred forgot how strong Matthew could be when he wanted to. That gentle face of his could fool just about anyone.

"Get out. Go neck with Ivan or whatever else you guys can manage in an hour."

"I live here too, you know."

"Alfred!"

"Alright, sheesh, I'm going, I'm going! Have fun on the chopping block, Gil." Matthew sighed as Alfred quickly shut the door, his laughter ringing in his ears.

"Idiot," he spat under his breath. "Sorry about him."

"It's fine," Gilbert said, grinning. "I'll be the one laughing when he finds out your parents actually adore me."

"Oh, do we now?"

Gilbert stiffened, and at that very moment he swore he could feel his soul trying to leave his body. Slowly he turned around, coming face to face with the man who had once introduced himself as "Matthew's Papa." The man wore fitted jeans and a black turtle neck, his long hair resting in a loose ponytail at his shoulder. His hands rested in his pockets, a relaxed air about him that somehow made Gilbert even more nervous. They made eye contact, and Gilbert willed himself not to jump.

"Papa," Matthew said, his face lighting up as his boyfriend's drained of color. " _Didn't you hear me calling you?_ "

" _I'm sorry, dear, I spilled some paint on myself and was changing when you called._ "

" _Oh._ " Matthew smiled as Francis passed an affectionate hand through his hair. " _Where's Dad?_ "

" _He's just finishing up in the kitchen. He'll be out soon,_ " Francis said, knowing his husband couldn't hide in the kitchen forever.

Gilbert's mouth was getting drier as he listened to the two of them speak, the little French that Matthew had taught him vanishing entirely from his memory. Was he expected to understand them? Was Matthew's father expecting him to join in? Was...was he being _tested_ right now?

"Papa, this is Gilbert."

 _Oh thank god_ , Gilbert thought. Although he couldn't deny that Matthew speaking French did _things_ to him, Gilbert was relieved to hear him speaking English again, and suddenly he no longer felt like he'd been thrown into the lion's den. His relief was snatched straight away as those cool blue eyes met his again.

The boy was even more striking in person, Francis noted; computer pixels really did him no justice. He appeared to be right around Matthew's height, perhaps a bit taller if he squinted. It was as if his eyes demanded all of his attention, a loud and angry red that screamed against his light skin and hair. A shade lighter and Francis was sure his lashes would appear to vanish into his skin. His face was more angled than his son's, with a sharper jaw and a taller nose, not cute and button-like as was his Matthieu's. His features were distinctive, but also fitting, working together to complement one another. His son had obviously inherited his good sense for all things beautiful.

"Yes, the famous Gilbert," he said, a warm smile on his lips. "The one your father and I already adore, _hein_? Matthieu neglected to tell me that you were a fortune teller."

Matthew giggled, the sweet sound softening the blow of his own fuck up. And the only way he could recover from the blow, he'd decided, was to use it to his advantage. And so he did. Goosebumps and all.

"No, sir, I'm not," he laughed, in that cute, sheepish way that Matthew couldn't get enough of. "But I really care about your son, and if I can't show you that tonight, then I obviously don't deserve to be dating him. That much I'm sure of."

Francis' brows inched up his face, having not expected such strong words to come from the visibly frazzled young man. Despite his darkened cheeks, his voice was steady, and he stood tall, holding Francis' gaze. Francis could see that even Matthew had been startled, eyes just the slightest bit wider than before. And before Francis knew it, he was smiling again.

"Well now, I think we can agree upon that." He offered up his hand. "I'm delighted to finally be meeting you in person, Gilbert."

"I am too, Mr. Bonnefoy," Gilbert replied and promptly shook the other's hand, unaware of how much he'd surprised the Frenchman by not butchering his last name. "Thank you for having me."

It really was quite a treat, to not have his ears accosted by bastardizations like "Bah-neh-foy," or "Bah-nee-foy," or, god forbid, "Boney-foy." (Bohn-fwah! _Ça, alors_ , was it really so difficult?) But the boy wouldn't be winning him over that easily. He _was_ dating his son after all; it would've been more of a shock if he _hadn't_ said it properly. Still, he awarded Gilbert a few points for his strong handshake, reserving further judgement for the rest of the night.

As Gilbert retracted his hand, he noticed another man approaching, obviously Matthew's other father, clad in a nice sweater vest and corduroys. He wore a rather stern expression as he slipped his glasses from the bridge of his nose and placed them inside the collar of his shirt, his movements polished and precise. When the man's eyes shifted in his direction, Gilbert found himself no more anxious than he already was, oddly enough. He was past the point of dipping a toe into the pool; he'd just cannon balled, in fact. Now he just needed to tread water.

"Dad, you're late," Matthew teased.

"I know, love, I apologize," he said, features softening. "I was just making sure everything was still in order."

"And by that I hope you don't mean you were 'sprucing up' tonight's meal," Francis said with a smirk. He and Matthew shared a laugh while the Englishman scowled, and Gilbert deduced that it was some kind of inside joke. 

"Hilarious," Arthur drawled.

"This is Gilbert," Matthew said, purely for the sake of formality. "Gilbert, my dad."

This time Gilbert was first to offer his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. Thank you for inviting me into your home."

Arthur gave a small smile as he took the other's hand, and Gilbert noted that the man's brows didn't look so intimidating when a smile was there to accompany them.

"Likewise, lad," Arthur said, trying his best not to look like he was staring at every inch of Gilbert's person, which he was.

Just how long had he waited for this moment? To see the young man who'd come into his son's life and left him positively smitten. He was a handsome lad, Arthur would admit, well-groomed and with good posture, eyes clear and alert. He was pleased to find no questionable markings or obnoxious jewelry, none visible to him, anyway. Appearances were only a fraction of Arthur's concern, however, and he especially looked forward to seeing the boy's personality. What struck him the most, aside from Gilbert's unique features, of course, was how content Matthew looked to be there standing next to him, a perpetual smile fixed on his lips. This was Gilbert, alright.

"I must say I'm a bit starstruck, Gilbert," he continued. "I've been wanting to meet you for quite some time, but it seems my son was right content to keep me in suspense. Especially when he's always spoken so fondly of you."

"Dad..." Matthew whined softly, face growing warm.

"Thank you for joining us tonight. It's quite comforting to be able to put a face to the name I've heard so much of."

Gilbert held back a laugh as he caught Matthew fidgeting with his hair from the corner of his eye, wondering just what kind of things Matthew had been saying about him, and for how long.

"I'm glad I could finally be here, Mr. Bo—" Gilbert stopped himself, looking from Arthur to Francis, and then back to Arthur. "Ah..."

The two men laughed before Arthur replied, "It's alright, lad. You may call me Mr. Kirkland."

"Mr. Kirkland," Gilbert repeated. Matthew looked to be enjoying himself a little too much, if the smirk on his lips was anything to go by. The cute little shit. "Right."

###### 

Gilbert was the son of a diplomat, Arthur and Francis had learned, having moved here from Germany when he was merely seven years old. His younger brother, whom he called Ludwig, was just five at the time, and had cried nearly the entire plane ride over. Gilbert was used to being airborne, he'd explained, his father taking him on different trips even before his brother was born. But the highest Ludwig had ever been off the ground was in a rickety park swing, and Gilbert swore he resembled a raccoon by the time the plane had landed, his brother's comfort taking priority over his need for sleep.

Both men were surprised to learn that he and his brother currently lived alone, his father made to return to Germany to continue on with his civic duties. Gilbert was just fourteen when his father first left on business for Berlin, thinking it better not to uproot his son's lives a second time. He was never away for more than a month before booking a flight back home, Gilbert assured them, and they talked with their father often via phone and post cards. Money wasn't a problem either, since they were supported by remittances their father sent from abroad. It was a unique situation that neither Arthur nor Francis expected to hear, but both could see that the boy was mature for his age; it wouldn't have been presumptuous to assume his upbringing played a significant role.

Matthew could have listened to Gilbert talk about himself for hours, and he smiled to himself each time his boyfriend was able to elicit a laugh from his parents. Dinner was going well, and he could feel himself relaxing as Gilbert casually spoke about the classes he was taking, washing down his last bite of food with a few gulps of milk.

"Ah, Matthew, dear, you've got some..." Arthur trailed off, his lips twitching up at one end.

"Hm?" Matthew answered, setting down his spoon.

"Can't say I've ever imagined what you'd look like with a mustache," Gilbert said with a tiny snort. "A lot cuter than I expected."

Matthew gasped as it then clicked, Gilbert's teasing tone a dead giveaway. He quickly reached for the napkin beneath his plate, blushing as he wiped away the faint strip of white. "Like you've never had one," he mumbled.

Francis watched the exchange between them, the smile Matthew failed to hide behind his napkin, the playful grin on Gilbert's face and the way his eyes narrowed ever so slightly in his son's direction. And he almost laughed aloud. Was this young man _flirting_ with his son right in front of him? With his son responding in kind, no less? His husband seemed to notice too, because before he could even open his mouth, Arthur beat him to it.

"Perhaps this is a bit crude for dinner conversation, but as a father I must ask," he started. "Have you boys become...intimate?"

The room was soon filled with the sounds of Gilbert coughing, disrupting the milk running down his throat. Matthew's napkin had fallen to the floor as he started, his forehead colliding with the table as he went to grab it. The napkin wasn't so much important to him as was the desire to hide his face, which he knew was a bright red. He groaned as his head began to pulsate. And dinner had been going so smoothly.

Francis reached over and gave Gilbert's back a few pitiful pats, while Arthur soothed a hand over Matthew's head, face painted with worry. It was a little more blunt than Arthur had been aiming for, sure, but he didn't want to dillydally around the subject. He too was a teenage boy once, and knew it was foolish to expect teenagers to practice restraint. He just wanted to know if they were being safe.

"I assume that's a yes?" Francis chuckled.

"No!" they shouted. Or, tried to. Matthew answered with more of a squawk, while Gilbert's voice was a bit hoarse from coughing so much.

Gilbert gulped as Francis raised a brow, looking almost offended, and suddenly words were leaving his mouth without his permission. "N-Not that I wouldn't like to, sir."

The words had escaped so quickly that Gilbert had not but a second to realize what he'd just done. His stomach dropped as three pairs of widened eyes shifted in his direction. His regret was immediate, though dread quickly took its place when he saw Matthew's face, flushed a raw, ripe red that reached even his neck. Gilbert had always hated that 'deer caught in headlights' cliche, but that was exactly the expression Matthew now wore, and he felt like a scumbag. Because this was the first time Matthew was hearing this, and it was in front of his parents for Christ's sake. Gilbert could deal with the burning shame of his own embarrassment, but seeing that he'd made Matthew uncomfortable made him want to claw at his own face. God, he was such a fucking idiot.

"B-But that's not to say we _have_ to," he said quickly. "What I meant was...no, we haven't, and that's fine with me." His eyes left Matthew to dart between Arthur and Francis. Their expressions had become unreadable, and he licked his lips before he spoke again. "Matthew means so much more to me than just sex."

Silence filled the room as Gilbert's heart raced. Matthew looked even redder than before, and if not for what happened next, Gilbert might have started to question whether or not he deserved to be sitting at this table at all. He froze as Matthew's hand found his from beneath the table. Having Matthew's palm against his made him realize how clammy his own was. But Matthew didn't seem to mind, slipping his fingers between Gilbert's. It was like finding a life raft among endless miles of open sea. Maybe Gilbert didn't need to tread after all.

Arthur didn't quite know how to react, his gentlemanly senses thinking he should be scandalized, while his fatherly senses leaned more towards startled respect. The silence was broken when Francis laughed, lively and loud. The sound made Gilbert jump, as he'd been bracing himself for his imminent dismissal, along with the sound of a door being slammed behind him. He'd gone and blown it, he was sure, his chance to impress Matthew's parents completely destroyed beyond repair. But this sound he was hearing, it was happy. Dare he say...fond? He felt as if he might cry when he saw Arthur crack the smallest smile.

"My, what a fascinating night this has turned out to be," Francis laughed, a hand rubbing the stubble at his jaw. "It seems your vision of the future may be coming true, Gilbert." 

A shy laugh was all that Gilbert could manage. But beneath the table, he gripped the hand that held his, sending a message that only Matthew could decipher. _Thank you._

Matthew squeezed back. _No, thank_ you.

###### 

Gilbert squeezed out some more dish soap onto his sponge, the bright green liquid sudsing up as he scrubbed another plate. He figured he should get a head start while Mr. Kirkland cleared the rest of the table, knowing that two sets of hands were always better than one. He sighed softly as the lime scented soap filled his nostrils, bubbles forming along the surface of the water that filled the sink. He had survived the night. And with a stomach full of fucking delicious brownies to boot. Despite the small blunders committed on his part, Gilbert couldn't have been anymore relieved. He looked up from his gloved hands to the pictures that sat attached to the fridge, held in place by colorful little magnets.

They were family photos.

Matthew and Alfred looked to be very young in most of them, probably about four or five in some, seven or eight in others. One in particular caught Gilbert's eye, specifically because Matthew's parents looked to be on the verge of tears. Matthew and Alfred were dressed identically, in white t-shirts and red shorts. The only difference between them was that Matthew was absolutely filthy, his bright white shirt muddled with blotches of brown, hair flying every which way, as if he'd been spit out by a tornado. Alfred didn't seem to mind, his little arms thrown around Matthew's shoulders in a tight hug, a toothy grin on his face. Their parents' arms surrounded them, faces lit with unmistakable joy. Gilbert's eyes fell back on Matthew, smile so big it rivaled his brother's, and he could feel himself melt.

And then he could feel his smile faltering, and his hand slowly stopped scrubbing, because they looked so happy. Like his family used to be. And he could feel that dreaded emotion rising to the surface, jealousy, and he hated himself for it.

"Oh, Gilbert, please, you don't have to do that," came Arthur's voice from behind him, and the plate in Gilbert's hand almost slipped from his grip. "We'll just use the dishwasher," he said, placing the rest of the dirty dishes into the other half of the sink where Gilbert had placed his stack. Arthur had gladly accepted when Gilbert offered to help clear the table, but washing the dishes was inexcusable for a guest in his home.

"I don't mind it, Mr. Kirkland. Besides, if I wash them by hand, it'll be faster anyway. Plus, this is kinda therapeutic for me," he said with a laugh.

"No, I couldn't allow you to do that, lad. We may have sized you up a bit at dinner, but you are still our guest."

"It's no problem, sir, really." He grinned. "You can't ask me to leave this unfinished now, I'm already halfway done."

Arthur peeked discreetly into the sink, realizing that the boy was indeed right. He sighed. "Well, if you insist on being so stubborn, grab that towel hanging from the cabinet there." Gilbert frowned, looking from the French flag designed towel that hung from the cabinet above his head, to the Englishman. "You'll dry while I wash," Arthur said with a smile. "Come on now, off with the gloves."

"Yes, sir," Gilbert chuckled, doing as he was told.

A comfortable silence settled between the two of them, Gilbert carefully drying each dish that was handed to him and setting them in the rack on the counter.

"I can't remember what that fridge looked like before we stuck all of those on it," Arthur said suddenly, voice soft over the sounds of sloshing water and clanking silverware. Gilbert looked to Arthur, whose eyes were focused on a particularly stubborn piece of food. "I noticed you looking them over."

"Oh," Gilbert said, pink spreading across his pale face.

"I always take the time to stop and look at them," Arthur continued. "I could be running late in the morning, no time for a proper breakfast, and I'd still make sure I took a few moments to look at my boys. That includes Francis, believe it or not," he laughed softly.

Gilbert looked to the fridge again, eyes settling again on that particular photo. "I...hope it's not rude of me to ask, but," he said, pointing to the little polaroid, "what happened in this photo?" Arthur paused in his cleaning to glance over at said photo, smile now showing teeth. "Matthew's so..."

"He just looks a right mess, doesn't he?"

"Well," Gilbert laughed, "yeah."

"But Francis and I do too, so I've no right to talk," he said, handing Gilbert another plate. "The boys were just kindergarteners there. That day they were having a sports festival. I remember Francis and I both took off of work to attend. It was such a big deal because, well..." Arthur paused for a moment, adding more soap to his sponge. "I'm quite sure you're already aware of this, but Matt lost his eyes to cancer when he was still just a baby."

"Yes," Gilbert replied, nodding.

"That photo was taken just a year after he lost them. And that smile on his face..." The Brit sighed. "God, it'd been such a long time since we'd seen him smiling like that. After the surgery, he didn't just lose his sight. He'd lost his confidence, his sense of security, his independence. All of it. Gone in an instant. My precious little boy, he...he coiled into himself. He didn't want to go anywhere without Francis or I there. Clung to Alfred like he was the air he breathed."

Gilbert listened intently as Arthur spoke, hanging on his every word, hearing the answers to unspoken questions he'd always felt he'd had no right to ask. Arthur's voice grew even softer, his voice beginning to sound further and further away.

"Enrolling them both into kindergarten was torture. Because I knew Matthew wasn't ready, and I knew that I was relying on Alfred to help him through it. And Alfred," Arthur laughed. "Alfred was willing to go to a kindergarten for blind children we'd discovered, just so he could stay with Matthew. But of course that wasn't appropriate, and splitting them up was absolutely out of the question, so we sent them to the school a few blocks away, together."

"Matthew started getting better. Much better. He'd come off the bus after school telling me of all the things he'd done during the day. Silly little games or dances, sometimes a song he'd learned or a craft he'd made. It was wonderful. And at the end of the year they had their sports day. And I admit, I was worried because Matthew had grown to dislike sports. Sports and blindness don't complement each other quite well, as I'm sure you can imagine."

The two shared a laugh.

"But Francis and I were shocked. Matthew was trying his hardest at everything. Jumping jacks, the hula hoop, even held the jump rope for the other children. And at the very end there was a race, just from one end of the school yard to the other. The whistle blew, and Matthew ran."

"He...ran?" Gilbert repeated, and Arthur nodded. "But how didn't he...?"

"He fell straight on his face. Hence him looking so filthy there," he said, motioning to the picture.

"Ah," Gilbert snorted. "Makes sense."

"But Alfred picked him right up and grabbed him by the hand, and they kept running. And they won. First place." Arthur began draining the sink as Gilbert dried the last cup, slipping off his gloves with a smile that screamed pride.

"Wow..."

"Wow indeed." Arthur turned to Gilbert, and Gilbert thought he saw something like sadness in his eyes. "For a while it seemed like Matthew had started to coil into himself again. Until he met you. And I saw him start to smile again, just like in that photo." Arthur sighed again, not with malice, but with ease. "All I ask of you is that you take care of my boy, Gilbert. Take care of him, and protect that smile I love so much."

Gilbert looked down at that photo once more, taking in little Matthew's bright smile, ashamed at how he'd allowed his own self-pity, his own bitterness, to distort something so incredibly beautiful. He looked to Arthur.

"I will, sir." Because he loved that smile too. "I swear I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twelve chapters in and Gilbert's family situation is finally mentioned beyond a single sentence. (・∀・)
> 
> Probably still too briefly for some of your tastes, but more will come to light about Gilbert's relationship with his family as the story continues on. So, for those of you who may have been wondering how the _heck_ two jobless high school boys have been managing without parents at home, I hope this chapter helped clear that up a bit.
> 
> Also, Gilbert Beilschmidt has officially received the FrUK Stamp of Approval ©.


	13. Yearning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew spends some time with the Vargas twins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0/10 dentists recommend this chapter for strong and healthy teeth.

⠠⠽⠑⠁⠗⠝⠊⠝⠛

"Hey, you." Matthew made a puzzled expression as he registered the sound of snapping fingers, quick and abrupt. "The fuck's your problem?"

And Matthew knew the words weren't directed at him, because Lovino never talked to him like that.

For the five short months Matthew had known him, his voice had always been a bit gruff, his choice of words often of the more colorful variety. But Matthew had come to find his frankness strangely endearing, the boy's mannerisms a stark contrast to that of his peppier twin. Matthew could appreciate that, being a twin himself, and knowing just how different his own personality was from Alfred's. The persistent grumbling and heavy bouts of sarcasm were distinctly Lovino Vargas, and Matthew found himself laughing more often than not when he was around, vaguely reminded of his father before his first cup of morning tea.

Lovino scowled at the target of his questioning as they made eye contact, the boy's eyes tearing from Matthew to look at him. He shrunk back in his seat, looking as if he might soil himself, the piercings on his bottom lip disappearing into his mouth. The fact that the boy had yet to say anything only made Lovino angrier.

"What, are you deaf?" 

It was obvious that Lovino was talking to, or rather _at_ , the only other person at the table, the one whose voice Matthew could barely remember because he hadn't spoken but a sentence or two since he'd joined them. Matthew had tried to cut the guy some slack, thinking that maybe he was just socially awkward or that he didn't work well in groups. He'd be the _last_ person to hold that against someone. But he had to admit, the stranger's silence didn't make much for contribution in what was supposed to be a group discussion.

He was actually surprised by how long Lovino had gone without saying anything, considering his short temper. The more he spoke, though, the more Matthew realized that this wasn't a case of simple irritation. He was... _livid_. And as Matthew sat there helplessly between the two, mind still a jumble of scientific jargon, he had to wonder what exactly had caused things to escalate so quickly.

"No?" he replied, sounding like he wasn't really sure of the answer himself. 

"Then what the hell is your problem?"

The boy quickly looked away, his shaggy bangs, greasy and long overdue for a cut, obscuring his eyes from view. "What are you talking about?"

Lovino scoffed. The nerve of this bastard, playing dumb. He and Matthew had been fine until this asshole walked into the room, coming into class forty-five minutes late with some bullshit excuse for the teacher. He'd been added to their group, annoying Lovino immediately just for the fact that now he and Matthew couldn't freely chatter like they had been.

What was this kid's name? Jared? Jeff? Jerry? Lovino couldn't remember, and he had no desire to. It had been a little over a month into the new semester and this was only the third time Lovino had seen the guy's face. He'd obviously changed his mind about skipping class today for whatever reason. His showing up uninvited was irritating enough, but the longer he sat there, the more Lovino's blood began to boil. Lovino could see him from the corner of his eye, staring. Just fucking staring. When Matthew flipped a page in his book, the kid would stare. When Matthew reached for his water, the kid would stare. Like Matthew lifting a bottle of Evian to his lips was the most earth-shattering thing he'd ever witnessed. It had him remembering things he'd rather not.

"Don't fuck with me, kid." Matthew's fingertips froze against the word "ozone," eyes growing wide. "You aren't gonna sit in my face and stare at him like you're at a fucking zoo."

Matthew sat back in his chair, his hands sliding into his lap as he listened to their third member begin to stutter out some kind of response.

_Oh._

"Didn't your mommy teach you when you were five that it's fucking rude to stare? Or do you just not give a fuck because you know Matt can't see you?"

Lovino had long forgotten the worksheet in front of him, the paper crumpling beneath his elbow as he leaned forward on his desk. He glared as the other looked away again, shamefaced, like all of them did when they were caught. Like all of them did when they realized they were bigoted pieces of shit. That expression, that mixture of repulsion and fascination, he could recognize it from a mile away. Because that was the same way people looked at Gilbert. Hell if he was going to sit here and watch it happen to Matthew, too. It didn't matter that Matthew couldn't see it, because _he_ sure as hell could. And he was fucking sick of having his friends gawked at like they were some kind of otherworldly creatures.

"Look, man, I'm sorry, ok?" His lip had started to redden from nibbling at the pair of rings attached to them. He looked to Matthew, mostly because the other boy's eyes were burning holes into his skin. "It's just that, well, you..." He let out a nervous laugh. "You don't really blink a lot. And well, it's kinda, um..."

Matthew was silent for a moment, a bit unsettled that someone had been observing him so closely. He'd never been one to pay attention to the number of times he opened and closed his eyes throughout the day, nor had anyone ever brought it to his attention. It was definitely a first, and he wasn't really sure what to say, feeling color begin to spread across his face. It was kind of...what? Weird? No... _creepy_. That was it. Matthew was sure that was how the sentence was going to end. But its ending never came as Lovino's voice hit Matthew's ears again, words blistering like hot coals against bare feet.

"So the fuck what? How does that affect you?"

"I'm not sayin' it does, alright? Chill out. I said I was sorry, didn't I?"

"It's not me who needs your half-assed apology, _cazzo_."

Matthew swallowed, the sound of students giggling, chattering, goofing off, slowly disappearing into the background. He slowly closed his book, his fingers trembling slightly against the hardback cover. Lovino wasn't just angry. Lovino was angry on _his_ behalf. Being stared at was nothing new for Matthew, not that he could always tell when it was happening. Like now, for example. He'd been completely oblivious, as he was sure he'd been countless other times, when people had free tickets to come and gawk at The Amazing Matthew.

But Lovino had just snatched those tickets away. Torn them up. Shattered the glass display window he hadn't even known he'd been forced behind. And Matthew felt warm suddenly, the sharp, piercing chill of his mounting anxiety melting clean away. _This_ was what it felt like. This was what it was _supposed_ to feel like, he reminded himself. To have friends. Friends who truly cared about him. True friendship was something that he once believed he'd find solely in the company of his brother, and he'd long resigned himself to that fate, the thought comforting and yet pitiful all the same. But this gruff voice and sharp tongue seemed hellbent on reminding him just how wrong he'd been.

Class was dismissed as the bell rang out, papers shuffling, chairs scraping against the floor as students rushed for the door. Matthew heard a mumble of apology as the late-comer passed him, moving so fast he could feel a gust of air as he hurried by. Lovino scoffed again, saying something Matthew couldn't understand before throwing his back pack over his shoulder.

"Lovino..."

"I've gotta get my algebra book from Feli for next class, so I'll go on ahead. Idiot forgot to give it back to me last night."

"Oh, well alright," Matthew replied as he got to his feet.

"We're in the studio today," Lovino called over his shoulder. "Door's open."

"Okay," Matthew called back as he gathered his things, sporting a smile that he couldn't wipe away.

###### 

Matthew wouldn't be going home in Gilbert's passenger seat today, nor would Gilbert see Matthew's shoes placed at his door. It had become so routine, Matthew spending afternoons on Gilbert's couch, in his room, in his basement. Matthew had gotten so used to having Gilbert in his kitchen, snagging fruit off the counter, stealing pillows from his bed, lying next to him on his floor. They'd gotten so used to it that when Gilbert approached Matthew's locker at day's end, he had to remember that the boy in front of it wasn't coming with him. And as Gilbert's car keys jingled, Matthew had to remember the same.

"I should start charging you," Matthew said, Gilbert snickering as he was handed his jacket. "There's more of _your_ stuff in here than mine, and it's _my_ locker."

"Whatever." He grinned, slipping it over his shoulders. "You know you love having all my stuff in there."

Matthew smirked, crossing his arms at his chest. "Or is it that you love having all your stuff in my locker?"

"Of course I fucking love it," he replied, Matthew handing him his scarf. "How else would I get to harass you between classes?"

It was true; they didn't share any classes together this semester. None with the exception of a lunch block.

"Don't remind me." He made a soft noise of surprise as Gilbert pulled him in by collar of his sweater, his hand pressed against the small of Matthew's back. 

"Like you don't like it."

Matthew's hand pushed half-heartedly at his chest. Gilbert didn't miss the coy little smile he tried to hide. "Well, whose fault is that?" 

"Guilty."

Matthew laughed as Gilbert pulled him in again, feeling his arm come round his waist. "Gil," he said, his voice suddenly a whisper. "We're in the _hallway_."

" _Ja_ ," he whispered back, just to tease him. He brought the locker door in on its squeaky hinges to block Matthew from view, for modesty's sake. "An _empty_ hallway."

"But...people are still walking around the school and someone could..." Matthew trailed off as Gilbert's nose brushed against his, his face growing hotter.

"Could?" he repeated, breath peppered with a long-discarded stick of Spearmint.

"Could..." 

Gilbert's face was already so close, and the hall was still so quiet. And Matthew's hand was already against his cheek, not that he remembered putting it there. He really hadn't stood a chance. Gilbert had planned to be awesome and smooth and kiss those lips the minute he unraveled, but Matthew beat him to it, pressing his lips to Gilbert's not once but thrice, each meeting of their lips longer than the last. It reduced him to a blushing mute. Matthew seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

"Wow," he finally managed to say, to which Matthew simply laughed and smiled.

And then someone else laughed. Giggled. It was distant.

The two of them froze, recognizing the voice immediately. And Matthew would've been just fine with Gilbert shutting him inside his locker right then and there.

Gilbert looked down the hall to see Feliciano casually walking their way, waving at them, Ludwig following closely behind him. Gilbert held up his hand in greeting.

"Aw, Mattie, you're so lucky. Lud doesn't like to kiss in public."

Matthew suppressed a groan as he heard Gilbert close his locker—with him still not in it.

"Feliciano," Ludwig mumbled, face going scarlet.

"It's true!" he said, pouting at his boyfriend before looking back to Matthew. "I have to steal them when he's not looking," he giggled again.

Matthew shook his head, laughing nervously. "I...don't really like to either, actually."

"Really?" Feliciano flashed that cheeky smile of his. "Then what was that you were doing just now?"

 _Traitor_ , Matthew thought, cheeks flaring. Feliciano could be such a smug little shit when he wanted to. And somehow still manage to sound as sweet and innocent as ever.

"It wasn't 'public' until you two _made_ it public, you nosy little minx," Gilbert shot back.

"Oops," he replied, though his expression would suggest otherwise. Ludwig cleared his throat.

"Anyway, we need to get going, Gilbert." He glanced at his wristwatch. "Aster's appointment is in an hour, and we need to hurry home. You know how anxious she gets before her annual check-ups."

Feliciano smiled at how concerned he sounded. He'd always found it so sweet how much Ludwig cared for his dog, always spoiling her absolutely rotten (though he would adamantly deny anything of the sort). He'd been tickled when he found a photo of the retriever in his boyfriend's wallet, like a proud father might have of his child. But Aster wasn't the only source of Ludwig's pride; Blackie and Berlitz had spots reserved in his wallet too. Feliciano had fond memories of the days when the Beilschmidt home had three canines instead of just one, and how he'd been terrified of all three of them until a five year old Ludwig showed him how to give good belly rubs.

But when it came time for Mr. Beilschmidt to return to Germany, Blackie and Berlitz had to go too. Three huge dogs were too much responsibility for two young boys, he'd reasoned. (They could live at home alone, but their _dearest Vati_ thought a little dog-walking was "too much" for them, a thirteen year old Gilbert had grumbled in the cafeteria for weeks after.) Feliciano knew that Ludwig missed his other dogs dearly, and as a result, doted on Aster three times as much in their absence. Gilbert knew this too, so as fussy as Ludwig was with their sweet little retriever, he couldn't really blame him. He missed them too.

" _Ja_ , I know. I'm ready," Gilbert said, pulling out his keys.

"I hope her appointment goes smoothly."

Ludwig smiled. "Thank you, Matthew."

"She'll be fine, it's just a check-up. Lutz is acting like she's having pups or something." Ludwig looked appalled by the idea, causing Feliciano to laugh. "But _danke_." Matthew nodded. "You know, she'd be _really_ happy if you could come over tomorrow after school. She's gonna miss you not being there to spoil her today."

Matthew smirked. "Would she also be _really_ happy if I brought some of Papa's cookies with me? The ones with white chocolate chips?"

" _Really_ fucking happy."

Ludwig and Feliciano looked at each other before looking away, subtle smiles on their faces as they let the other two have their moment. 

"Okay," Matthew laughed. "I think I can do that."

"Awesome. Here, Lutz, I'm riding shot gun," he said, tossing his brother the keys. And without thinking too much about it he brought a kiss to Matthew's forehead, sticking out his tongue at Feliciano. Feliciano responded in kind. " _Tschüss, Schatz._ "

"Bye," he said softly, listening to Ludwig scold Gilbert about his unzipped jacket.

Feliciano watched the two brothers retreat down the hall, Gilbert walking backwards for no other reason than to get one last look at Matthew. He grinned wide as Matthew sent him a little wave, nearly tripping over his own feet before they disappeared around the corner. Feliciano did his best to hold back the squeal bubbling in his throat. But he had never been very good at practicing restraint.

Matthew jumped as he cried, "I can't believe you two waited so long to date!"

"Yeah," he replied sheepishly as they began to walk, "I know."

"Will you be sitting in on Alfred's practice today?" he asked. "Lovino and I are in the studio today, so if you wanted some quiet, you're welcome to come join us."

"Thanks, Feli. I'll come by in a few minutes. I'll just pop in on Alfred first and let him know I'm still here."

He nodded, hands clapping together in celebration. "We'll be waiting for you then." Matthew smiled as Feliciano turned the opposite corner, his skips echoing down the empty hall.

###### 

Matthew breathed in deeply, appreciating the heavy smell of paint and thinner. The studio always smelled heavenly; it didn't matter what Feliciano was doing. Some days it was charcoal or clay, other days it was papier mâché for props. Matthew sat at the table across from him, listening to his continuous brush strokes, some short and quick, some slow and drawn out. He could feel himself nodding off, the sun hitting his face through the window as he closed his eyes. He could hear Lovino too, working in the darkroom a few feet away, shuffling photographs, footsteps slow and deliberate as he moved about the room.

The first time Matthew had stepped into the studio was early December of last year, when Feliciano pulled him inside one day after school. He'd left the gym to stretch his legs a bit, his lower half having fallen asleep after sitting on the benches for so long. Ten minutes or so was all he'd needed, and as he began heading back to Alfred's practice, he'd heard Feliciano's voice call from the end of the hall. Surprised to find him wandering the halls after hours, Matthew had asked what he'd stayed after for. Feliciano had answered by taking him to this room.

The studio was really just an extension of the art classroom, which was just the next room over. Feliciano had special permission to use the room after school hours, Matthew had learned, due to his near constant work for school plays. He'd been working on a background for The Nutcracker the first time he'd brought Matthew inside. This afternoon was dedicated to Hamlet. It wouldn't debut for another four months, Feliciano said, but he had multiple backdrops to paint and he'd wanted to start early. It sounded quite stressful to Matthew, and sometimes he worried about Feliciano pushing himself too hard, but he could tell Feliciano really loved what he did.

"Let me know if you want anything, ok, Matthew?" Feliciano said, voice breaking the comfortable silence. His tone was gentle, pensive, much softer than usual. Matthew couldn't help but notice how mellow his friend became with a brush in his hand. "Paint, clay, anything. There's plenty of it in the storage room."

"Thanks, but I'm alright," he replied, appreciating the offer, but knowing he'd just make an utter mess. Plus, it would just go to waste. Better to save it for the real artists, he reasoned. The ones who'd done more than squeeze Play-doh and finger paint in Pull-ups.

He closed his eyes again, slumping forward onto the table, a hand resting under his chin. He listened in on Lovino's footsteps again, wondering exactly what he was doing in that little room. Whatever he was doing in there, it was clear that he was thoroughly absorbed in it. He'd disappeared behind its door a half an hour ago, and had yet to come out since. Lovino had called it a "darkroom," a room for processing black and white photos. The name made Matthew want to chuckle; every room was dark to him. He wanted to see what made this one so special.

Suddenly, Feliciano spoke again.

"I'm so glad Gilbert met you." Matthew's eyes snapped open, startled with how sudden it was. "You make him really happy."

Matthew's hand left his face to play with his hair, but he'd forgotten it was pulled back, so he settled for the loose threads on his sweater instead. He fiddled with his sleeve, feeling ridiculous with how little time it had taken for his cheeks to start going haywire. Gilbert's name was like a spark, his mind and body responding in an instant like fire to gasoline. "You...think so?"

"I know so," Feliciano replied, swiping gingerly at his palette. "And I can tell he makes you happy too."

Matthew's smile grew wider, though concealed behind the palm of his hand. "He's..." he said softly, pulling his hand away so as not to muffle his voice. "He's not even here and I'm still grinning like an idiot." He sighed, planting a cheek against the smooth tabletop. "It's embarrassing."

Feliciano laughed as he caught Matthew's reflection in the window, face a perfect match for the shade of red coating his brush.

"Would you still be embarrassed if I told you that you have that power too?" He nodded as Matthew lifted his head. "Mmhm. Sometimes Gil gets super quiet on the ride home, and when I peek through the mirror, I catch him all curled up by the window, smiling at his phone like it's the most precious thing in the world. That's how I know he's texting you."

"It's that obvious, huh?" Matthew laughed to himself, feeling a little less ridiculous. And extremely flattered.

"Everything is obvious with you two," he teased, smiling as he looked again at Matthew's image in the windowpane.

"So I've heard," Matthew chuckled.

"But...you really do mean a lot to him. I can tell, especially now," he said, voice becoming progressively softer as he spoke. "The last time I've seen him so happy like this, we were just little kids."

The sound of Feliciano's paintbrush faded into the back of Matthew's mind, the smile on his lips slowly disappearing as he fully processed the other's words. "Has he...not been? Happy?"

Feliciano paused, brush hovering above his paper. Matthew noticed his hesitation and sat up in his chair. "Mm, well..." came his answer, rather cryptic. "Happiness is relative, isn't it?" The brunette looked thoughtfully down at his work from where he sat on the floor, the colors softening as the paint began to dry. "I don't think Gilbert realized how much happier his happy could be until he met you."

Matthew shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unused to Feliciano being so vague. On the surface his words seemed encouraging enough, but then again, they hadn't exactly answered his question. He sensed that there was more to them than his friend was letting on. But maybe he was wrong. And if he was, then so be it. But this nagging feeling in his chest was convincing him otherwise, and he wanted it to disappear. He hesitated a bit before he responded.

"What do you mean when you say...'his' happy?"

"Well, what I mean is..." he trailed off, setting his brush off to the side with an inaudible sigh. "He's had his own version of 'happy' for a while now. I...we...wouldn't exactly call it that."

The room fell completely silent. No bristles against paper, no footsteps from the darkroom. It lasted only for a few seconds, broken by a single word.

"Why?"

Feliciano turned around at the sound of Matthew's voice, just a whisper, his palette dropping from his fingers when he saw the frown on Matthew's face. _Oh, Dio, _he hadn't meant to make Matthew upset. He knew he couldn't say anything more than he already had, out of respect for Gilbert's privacy. Matthew would already know about it if Gilbert wanted him to, and Feliciano was sure Gilbert would tell him when he was ready. He wasn't going to take that away from him.__

"It's...not really my place to say," he said, slowly rising from the floor to his feet.

"Oh," Matthew said softly. Just the thought of Gilbert not being happy, not laughing in that contagious way that he did, not hearing his smile in every word that he spoke, it made Matthew feel cold. A moment or two passed before he added, "I understand." 

And he did understand. He understood that he hadn't known Gilbert for as long as Feliciano, or Lovino, or Antonio. Who would he be to try and force himself inside a bolted safe without a key, with no regard for the fragility of what was inside? He understood that everyone had things they preferred to keep private, understood that no one was free of life's trials and tribulations, understood that he wasn't entitled to know every single thing about Gilbert's life just because they were dating.

Because that was what dating was, wasn't it? Getting to know someone you care for, becoming comfortable enough with each other to share those private thoughts aloud. It was a process. It wouldn't happen overnight, Matthew knew that. But it didn't stop him from _wanting_ to be that person to Gilbert. Someone he trusted with his hardships. Someone he could confide in. He hoped he could be that someone, _yearned_ to be that someone to him. However long it would take.

"But I meant everything that I said. You make him really, _really_ happy. All of us can see that," Feliciano continued, determined to shoo away any doubt he may have caused. "The night he confessed to you, on the car ride home, he said he was so relieved he could cry. He was so glad that you felt the same way he did."

Matthew's smile quickly returned, a dizzying warmth traveling from his head to his toes. "I'm glad he did too."

Feliciano sighed. "You guys are so—"

"Cute?" Matthew finished for him, having heard it more than enough times.

"In love," he said, wiping the palms of his hands on his smock.

"O-Oh."

"And cute," he laughed. "I'm going to go get cleaned up, ok? I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Alright, take your time."

Matthew brought his hands to his face, fingers splaying across his singeing cheeks. Gilbert said that? About him? "Oh my god," he mumbled to himself, unable to stop smiling. Gilbert had him doing that a lot lately.

"Hey, Matt."

He jumped and whipped around, bracing for Lovino to ask him who the hell he was talking to. "Y-Yeah?"

"Think you could do something for me?" he asked, head poking out of the darkroom.

"Oh. Yeah, sure." He grabbed for his cane at the other end of the table. "What do you need?"

"You. Bring your phone."

"Uh, ok," he said, chuckling a bit.

"Wait." Matthew froze as he reached the door, a deep red glow spilling out of the room. "You gotta piss or anything?"

"No?"

"Alright," he said, stepping to the side to allow Matthew entrance. "Come in." 

###### 

Lovino flipped the light on as Matthew walked in, his eyes taking a moment to adjust after being in darkness for so long. He was greeted with Matthew's puzzled expression, prompting him to explain himself. "I asked because the door needs to stay closed while I develop this last batch of prints. If the door opens before they're done processing, then they're fucked."

"Wow," he replied, stopping as the tip of his cane hit the leg of a table. "Are they really that sensitive?" 

"Yeah," he answered, shutting the door. "One eight-thousandth of a second. That's all it takes for light to get through and ruin your entire session. After so many blanks you learn to piss before you start, or hold that shit in and wait." He smirked when Matthew snorted, but he was being totally serious.

"I never knew it was so intense."

Lovino shrugged. "It doesn't have to be. Normally there's a revolving door. The other darkroom we use for all the photography classes has one. That way you can come in and out and not worry about letting in any light. This one's old as shit, but Feli gets me access to it so I'm not complaining." He made his way across the room for his backpack, left sitting exactly where he'd left it against the wall.

"It smells really...citrusy in here." Matthew sniffed again just to make sure he wasn't just imagining things. No, he was right. Very lemony, and pleasantly so. "I expected it to smell more, well, chemical-y." It was his first time being inside a room like this, and it was exciting to be experiencing something new.

"Yeah, you're right. It doesn't usually smell this good. But the fixer I'm using is odorless and the stop bath's citric based. It's the fixer that usually smells the worst," he explained, rummaging around in his backpack.

Matthew nodded along like he knew what a fixer and a stop bath were.

"I'm pretty used to it, so it doesn't really bother me like it used to, but I always try to change clothes after I finish a session if I can. Toni'll just complain about the smell otherwise. Whiny bastard." Lovino grinned in silent victory as he came across what he was looking for. "You hungry?" he asked. "I've got an extra granola bar if you want it."

Now that Matthew thought about it, he sort of was. Alfred had ended up eating more of his lunch than he did. He hadn't had time to make his own lunch this morning, and had to buy one instead. It hadn't been the tastiest. But maybe he was just spoiled by his papa's culinary prowess. "Sure, I'll take it," he replied, smiling as Lovino placed it in his hand. "Thanks."

Lovino nodded, leaning against the wall behind them. "I'd offer you a place to sit, but there is none, so." He shrugged again. "We aren't even supposed to be eating in here, but I'm hungry and need a break."

"It's fine, I don't mind it," he laughed, taking a bite of his granola. It was fruity and nutty, and the discovery made him a little more happier than it should have. "So what did you need my help with anyway?" he asked as an afterthought.

"Developing prints." Lovino looked across the room where a few finished photos were hanging from the ceiling, nearly dry. "We've only got forty five minutes left before we need to close up and I'm kinda behind. Figured I could finish on time if I had another pair of hands."

"Oh..." Matthew made sure to swallow before he spoke again. "But I don't know all that much about film photography. I'd just slow you d—"

"Then I'll teach you." Lovino smirked as Matthew turned to him, obviously not expecting the response he'd been given. "Why not? It'll be hard to fuck up when I'm standing right next to you."

Matthew's smile was instantaneous, that warm, tingly feeling surging within him once again, as if to remind him it had never left. As if to remind him that this was Lovino Vargas that he was talking to. His friend. And it felt just as amazing as before. "Alright," he said. "What's first?"

"First, let me give you a quick run down of all the tools."

Just like Feliciano, Lovino became another person when he was in his element. More talkative, noticeably eager. Matthew knew that photography was a hobby of his, and the way he talked about the different tools and techniques, voice filled with such enthusiasm, brought a smile to his face. Though he was seasoned in the art, he was still patient with Matthew, letting him get used to the feel of equipment in his hand, taking him step by step through the different chemicals, what they did and why each were necessary. The first tray of liquid was what made the image appear, Lovino had told him, the developer. The next two trays were filled with the stop bath and the fixer, which stopped the developer and stabilized the image, respectively. Matthew would probably forget all of this by tomorrow morning, but he was grateful for Lovino's explanations.

The liquid sloshed a bit as Matthew dipped his tongs inside the first of three trays, prodding around until he felt them hit the corner of the print submerged inside. It took a few seconds for him to grab hold of it, the task a bit difficult with solely touch at his disposal, but he managed, pulling it out for Lovino to take. 

"Relax, Matt," Lovino snickered, taking and plopping the print into the next tray. "You're standing straight as a damn soldier. If you drop it, it's not the end of the world." Matthew laughed, not realizing how tense he was until he felt his shoulders drop. "I'm not gonna bite your ear off for doing _me_ a favor."

"Yeah, I know, but I'm a perfectionist, alright?" He smirked. "The less fucking up I do, the better." The metallic sound of Lovino's tongs hitting the floor startled him. "Are you ok?"

Lovino quickly retrieved them from the ground, picking imaginary lint from his clothes as he cleared his throat. "Fine," he said brusquely. After a few seconds he added, "It's weird as shit to hear you curse."

The taller boy laughed, another snort behind his hand. "Didn't mean to startle you." Lovino simply mumbled and passed him another print. "By the way, why did you tell me to bring my phone?"

"Oh. That was more for you than me," he said, transferring another photo into the next tray. "In case you wanted to listen to tunes or something. Some people get bored in here." He hunched his shoulders. "You can if you want."

"Why would I when I'm not bored?" Lovino looked to Matthew, his unfocused blue eyes looking incredibly violet under the red glow of the safelight. "I like it in here."

Lovino wouldn't say it aloud, but he had been kind of afraid that Matthew might not find his hobby as interesting as he did. He was glad to have been wrong. "Good," he finally said, smiling to himself. They soon settled into a pleasant silence, Lovino answering whatever questions Matthew had every once in a while, or describing what was in the pictures they were processing. Street sides, park trails, grass damp with fresh morning dew...He skipped over explaining the ones of he and Antonio.

"Hey, Lovino..." Matthew suddenly said, his voice a bit quieter than before.

"Yeah?"

"I just wanted to say thanks. For earlier."

"No need to," he said, pulling down some photos from the ceiling. He replaced them with the new ones Matthew handed him. "Asshole had it coming."

Matthew shuffled his feet. "I wouldn't have even known if you hadn't said anything. I thought the guy was just shy."

"Shy my ass," Lovino scoffed. "I'd wanna know too if someone was staring at me like I was a fucking unicorn. Especially if they were sitting right in front of me."

"A unicorn who doesn't blink enough apparently." Matthew chuckled. "I've known for a while that it scares people that I don't 'look' at them when I talk, but the blinking thing's a first. No one's...ever mentioned it before today, you know?" 

"Forget about it, Matt. Don't allow that bastard to make you think any differently about yourself. Not him, or anyone else. You hear me?"

Matthew nodded his head slowly, surprised by the other's words. And then he blushed slightly, ashamed that he'd almost let this person do exactly that. Matthew had improved so much since the beginning of last year, forming new relationships, leaving his comfort zone, experiencing new things, rebuilding his confidence. But like every other person he still had his days, was still vulnerable to insecurity, to doubts and second guesses. But these days he found it happening less and less, and he had all of the people surrounding him, including the Vargas twins, to thank for that.

"Yeah, I..." he replied, "I won't."

"Good." He took another photo from Matthew. "'Cause this right here," he said, bringing a knuckle to tap at the blond's chest, "this is you, Matt. The _real_ you. The guy who's weirdly obsessed with flannel and sneaks books into assemblies and talks shit about the cafeteria food." He smirked as he heard the other chuckle. " _This_ is you. Not that guy I met last September. That's the guy that assholes like Jerry Whateverthefuck _made_ you. So, don't let anyone make you into someone you're not."

Lovino secured the last photo with a clip, color staining his cheeks as he climbed down from his step stool. He hadn't meant to get all mushy-gushy so suddenly, but while he was at it, he figured he might as well get it all out of his system. Truthfully, this had been on his mind for a while now, seeing how Gilbert had gravitated towards Matthew, how willingly Matthew had responded, how similar they were to each other, how they'd begun to heal one another, even if neither of them fully realized it.

"I'm saying this because I had to watch the same thing happen to Gilbert. And I don't wanna watch it happen to you too. You get treated like shit when you're different. You know what that's like. Gilbert's had to deal with that his entire life. I mean, now, he couldn't give a shit about the way people look at him. Hell, now he laughs when he catches someone staring and waves just to make it more awkward."

The image made Matthew smile a bit.

"But it really used to get to him. And it got to the point where he actually started to believe he was as shitty as people treated him. Acting one way or another because he thought that was how people wanted him to act. And..." Lovino stopped himself, because he knew the next words weren't his to say.

He folded up the stool, setting it back against the wall as he smiled to himself.

"So, that's why as much as he annoys me with his 'I'm awesome' shit, I never really tell him to shut up. Because he deserves to have some pride in himself after all the shit he's been through. And you deserve to have some pride in yourself too."

Matthew took a deep breath, the action ridding him of the tension in his throat. God...this really was what it was supposed to feel like. To _be_ like. This was the feeling that he hadn't even realized he'd been missing, that he'd been waiting for, wishing for for so long. A taste of true friendship. It was like lifting a pail of crisp, cool water to cracked and aching lips. Like finally lying head against pillow instead of cold concrete. The type of happiness that brought tears with it. The type of happiness that had Gilbert at its very root. He wondered if Gilbert's happy now felt like this. Hoped that it felt like this.

"You...sound so much like Alfred." He smiled, willing his voice to keep steady. "It must be an older brother thing."

Lovino scoffed. "Must be. 'Cause I've got nothing else in common with that loser."

Matthew was first to laugh, followed by Lovino, and Matthew was glad for the joke, because now he had a legitimate reason to rub away the stinging in his eyes.

"Come on," Lovino said as he opened the door. "Let's break while these prints dry. I'll grab us some sodas from the vending machine." He made sure to hold it open until Matthew reached it himself. "You want anything in particular?"

"Oh, anything is fine," he replied, the door shutting closed quietly behind him. "My wallet's in my bag next to the door, in the front pocket."

"Don't need it," he said, waving a hand.

"But-"

Lovino laughed, the sound breathy. "Matt, it's soda. It's not a big deal. Your help is worth more than a buck seventy-five, alright?"

"Yeah, okay," he said sheepishly, seating himself at the table. 

"I'll be back. If anyone else tries to come in here, tell 'em to piss off," Lovino said before slipping out into the hallway.

When he returned, he plopped himself next to Matthew, Matthew thanking him as he slid a bottle his way.

"Feli's right, you know."

Matthew paused in the middle of taking another sip, pulling the bottle away from his lips to mumble, "Hm?"

"He's happy. With you." Lovino smirked at the face Matthew made. "Yeah, I was eavesdropping. Walls are thin."

"Yeah..." Matthew flushed, listening to the bubbles fizz as they tickled his nose. "He makes me happy too."

"Christ," he sighed once he'd downed a few more gulps. "You two make me sick." Though what was making him even more sick was this smile on his face. The door clicking open prompted him to turn around just in time to see his brother slip inside, hands working at the knot keeping his smock in place.

"What he means," Feliciano said, "is that he's glad for the both of you."

"Shut up. You don't speak for me."

"Of course not," he said, shrugging his shoulders. His smile was a little too wide as he pulled his dirty smock over his neck. "But you didn't say I was wrong, did you?"

Matthew's chuckling caught him off guard and he huffed, because he really wasn't as interested in this as he was coming across. At least that's what he liked to tell himself. Feliciano snickered at the unique shade of red on his brother's face. 

"Take your fancy spring water before I pour it down the drain." He threw the bottle at Feliciano, who clumsily caught it with both hands. He stumbled back a bit to catch the little packet of pretzels that followed.

"A snack too?" Lovino wriggled half-heartedly between the pair of arms that came to squeeze him from behind, though he didn't exactly pull away. "I have such a nice big brother."

"Don't get used to it."

Feliciano sat on Matthew's other side, munching on his food and sighing about the tiny paint stain on his sleeve, which, apparently, he hadn't been able to scrub away in the bathroom sink. Lovino told him he was stupid to wear white that day, followed by some mumbling about how he'd stain treat it once they got home. All Matthew could do was smile at how content both seemed to be, even in their bickering.

Out in the hallway, doors began to click shut. The old janitor was sweeping his way from one classroom to the next, bristles hitting the floor in a lazy kind of rhythm. Matthew began to hear the obnoxious squeaking of sneakers; the varsity kids were leaving practice. The building was closing down, and soon they'd be leaving too. And this little room would be waiting for them.

Matthew smiled, chin resting in the palm of his hand as he declared, "Next time, drinks are on me."


End file.
